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CHAPTER ONE

JULIET

“You don't have to do this.”

I scan the refrigerator shelf in front of me: a bottle of rosé, three cans of fizzy water, chicken and rice leftovers from last night, and a half a tin of cat food.

Yes. I really do.

“Just ask Franny for a different job.”

I wince. The very thought of asking our boss for another job makes my skin crawl. Not because she wouldn’t give it to me. She would. Franchesca Fratone, or Franny as we lovingly call her, is everyone’s overprotective grandma. Mix that with a side of absolute badass, and we all wish we could be her when we grow up. She views all the girls at Bare Necessities Topless Maid Services as her own and would absolutely want me to put my safety and mental health first, but turning down this job feels like giving in. It feels like letting him win.

There’s also the fact that at twenty-seven, my fridge looks like it belongs to a freshman college student.

I grab the bottle of wine for Paige, a fizzy water for myself, and two glasses from the open shelving beside the fridge and let out a weighted sigh. It doesn’t take me more than a moment to cross the short distance to where my best friend lounges on my bed. At four hundred square feet, it’s less studio apartment and more glorified closet. A far cry from the penthouse I lived in just over a year ago.

Not that I want to go back there. I might have traded one hell hole for another, but this one’s all mine, and I won’t pretend like that doesn’t make all the difference.

The moment I plop down, Lodhi, my mischievous orange tabby cat, sprawls out in my lap, demanding scratches. He’s lucky he’s cute or I might be annoyed he’s also clawing up my comforter. I hand Paige the drinks and rub his belly, earning me a sweet rumble. “I’m not asking for a different job.”

“You’re more stubborn than a mule. You know that?” Her nose wrinkles as she pours our drinks and offers my cup to me.

I shrug and take a long sip, letting the lemon-lime flavored bubbles burst on my tongue. “Maybe, but we both know I need the money.”

It’s the understatement of the year. College students need money. Struggling artists need money. The homeless need money. Me? I need to win the lottery to pay off the debts my husband left me.

Ex-husband?

No, that’s not right either.

Dead husband.

I flinch, thinking of the zeros that make up the astronomical number Tyler racked up gambling. As a professional baseball player, you would think he had someone to keep his finances in order. He didn’t. And Lord knows he kept me in the dark on half the things he did on a daily basis. Then he died in a tragic plane crash and left me to sort it all out.

But that’s how he liked it. Me waiting for him with a smile on my face. Me barefoot in the kitchen, making him gourmet food that he wouldn’t touch because it didn’t meet his dietary needs. Never mind that I couldn’t eat it either because of my own. But still, I made the dishes. I cleaned the house. I was the perfect little wife.

Until I wasn’t.

And then I paid the price.

Don’t get me wrong. He never seriously injured me. That would lead to questions, and he couldn’t have that. Not when he had a reputation to uphold. But a bruise here, or cut there, would go unnoticed. And that’s assuming he let me into the public eye.

Let me.

My pulse pounds in my throat as I remember the years spent trying to make him love me the way I loved him. I still can’t believe the woman I became. The woman I fear I still am at my very core.

That’s because he was right. You are nothing more than an ungrateful bitch.

The echoes of Tyler’s voice haunt me.

I know it’s not real.

I know he’s not right.

I know.

Still, that doesn’t erase the fear that on some level he was.

“Whoa, Etta, pull back.” Paige’s voice yanks me back to the present.

Her eyes flit down to my hand, crushing my red solo cup.“I know what you’re doing.”

I blink and press my lips together. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But she does.

“Don’t bullshit me, Etta Cruz. I know better than anyone when you’ve fallen into a spiral of bullshit thoughts. Your eyes gloss over, and the left one begins to twitch. If you’re angry, like you are now, your lips purse. And if you’re sad, you get this cute little wrinkle between your brows.”

Forcing a mock grin, I raise a brow and subtly shift all focus away from me. “It’s oddly endearing and slightly disturbing that you notice all that.”

“What can I say? There’s a reason I’m your best friend.”

It’s true. Mostly because Paige wouldn’t take no for an answer. When she found me, I was nothing more than a shell of a woman, desperate for a hand to hold but afraid to trust anyone. I was walking the edge of destitute and desolate before she walked into that women’s shelter and heard my story and declared us best friends.

It didn’t matter that she didn’t know me. Paige is the kind of human who has the unique ability to see through to who you really are, and she decided I was worth it. I’m not sure I can ever repay her for that kindness.

Of course, she’s also the reason I’m working under the table as a full-time topless maid and part-time bartender. When I realized I needed money fast, stripping was going to be my first option, but I’ve got all the grace of a baby deer and didn’t want to risk falling off the stage.

My mother would say Paige isn’t a good influence, but to that I’d say she’s exactly what I need—wild, free, and most of all, kind.

I owe her my life.

And hopefully one day, it will be the only debt I owe.

“And because I’m your best friend,” Paige continues, “and I know you’re going to take this job regardless of what I say. I’m going to remind you, you’re a strong, capable woman who isn’t going to let her ex-dickhead win.” I love when she refers to Tyler as ex-dickhead. “And also point out, all of his teammates died with him on that plane.”

It’s morbid, but I can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of me. “I don’t think that’s supposed to be a selling point.”

“You’re right.” She taps her heart with two fingers and tips her head back, gesturing toward the ceiling. “My apologies to the dead.” Her eyes fall to meet mine, and she offers me a soft smile. The kind meant to reassure and inspire. Though all it does is stir the already simmering anxiety in my chest. “What I mean is, none of Tyler’s teammates live on the Row anymore. They don’t know who you are or that you were ever affiliated with the team. So, you are going to wake your happy ass up at the crack of dawn and sway your little hips down there to clean what I am sure are already pristine apartments, put on a little show, and take their goddamn money so you can fix the problem they created.”

My laugh startles Lodhi, who jumps from my lap and curls himself up at the head of the bed on my pillow.

“I’m pretty sure the Renegades didn’t make Tyler gamble away our savings and rack up enough debt to last me a lifetime.”

“No, but they should have known.” Her eyes are pointed daggers, and even though I know they’re not meant for me, they prod the shame and guilt inside me.

“They should have stepped in.” Paige hesitates and when she continues, her voice wobbles. “They should have protected you.”

A choked sob shakes my chest, but I hold back the noise. Though it does nothing to stop the tears streaking my cheeks.

Because while Paige can say those words with her whole chest, I can’t.

I could have done more to protect myself. I let him do this. I was weak.

The Renegades hold no fault in what happened between Tyler and me. That responsibility lies entirely with me. I let him put me in a box. I let him break my will to fight back. I let him…

And because of it, my whole world crumbled, brick by brick.

But that’s the thing about being buried beneath the shambles of a broken house. Eventually, the light breaks through the cracks, and if you’re brave enough to claw your way out, something beautiful can emerge.

I want to be that beauty.

I want to take back what he took from me.

The problem is, as much as I want it, there’s always the depraved voice inside me that takes over. The one that is a mix of Tyler and my darkest thoughts.

What if I get it wrong again? What if I’m not strong enough? I couldn’t even advocate for myself in my marriage. How the hell am I supposed to demand more from the rest of my life?

My thoughts halt, and I realize I’m doing it again.

Letting myself spiral.

I shake my head and take another sip of my drink.

“Look at you go,” Paige croons, playfully. “Pulling yourself out of that spiral all on your own.”

The pulse hammering in my throat lessens as surprise warms my chest.

She’s right. I did.

Maybe I can do this.

Forcing myself to press forward, I offer her a weak smile. “Do you really think the guys on the Renegades won’t know who I am?”

The last thing I need is someone recognizing me and trying to get involved. I wouldn’t wish Manhattan’s seediest underground upon my worst enemies. As it is, I hate Paige knows anything about the situation and live in constant fear they are going to rope her in if I fail.

My best friend reaches out and takes my hand, giving me strength. “I think you’re going to walk into that building and blow them away with your good looks and sparkling personality. It won’t matter if they recognize you, because you aren’t that woman anymore.”

I give her hand a squeeze in silent thanks. This wasn’t the pep talk I expected, but it’s what I needed. One of Paige’s many gifts.

“And given that you’re cleaning four apartments outside of normal business hours,” she continues, “you’ll be three thousand dollars closer to paying off Slimy Saul.”

“Ugh.” I grunt, my nose crinkling at the mention of the bookie who has a choke hold on my life. How Tyler ever got into bed with him, I’ll never know, but I’ll be happy when I no longer have to deal with him or his henchmen. “But you’re right. It’s a new team and no one there knows who I am. This is just another job, and I shouldn’t treat it any different.”

Plus, if I’m honest, there’s a small part of me that enjoys the work. Having a clean space makes people happy and as a perpetual people pleaser, that makes me happy too. Sure, I’d rather clean with my clothes on, but even though there are parts of me that believe I’m wrong for it, I can’t deny there’s something empowering about doing mundane tasks half naked while someone watches—curiously, longingly, maybe even appreciatively.

God knows my husband—ex-husband—didn’t look at me that way. Maybe once upon a time, but definitely not after he made it into the big leagues. He had women in every city to bestow that honor upon.

And yet you still loved me. You still stayed with me because you knew you couldn’t find anything better.

The words echo in my mind, and despite the smile on my face, I feel like I’m drowning in piles of self-loathing and regret.

“That’s the spirit.” Paige pulls her hand back and jumps to her feet. Before I can say another word, she’s at the clothing rack in the corner that holds all my frilly little work outfits. “Now, let’s decide what you’re going to wear.”

She fingers through the silk and lace like they’re from a high-end boutique and not hand-me-downs from other girls at Bare Necessities.

She stops at a classic, high-waisted French maid skirt. It’s over the top with a frilly petticoat underskirt and a matching garter set. “I’m thinking since they said it’s supposed to be a playful joke for the messy guy on the team, you should definitely go with this one. It compliments your skin and makes your boobs look amazing.”

I roll my eyes and laugh. We both know what I wear isn’t for them. It’s for me.The epitome of fake it till you make it.

Never in a million years did I expect I’d be heading back to the first place I called home in New York. The place I attribute to the downfall of my marriage.

Yet somehow it feels poetic. Almost like it’s the closure I didn’t know I needed. One more middle finger to the life I desperately want to leave behind.

Tyler was always so worried I’d do or say the wrong thing in front of his teammates.

It really is karmic justice, that in order to fix his mess, I’ll be getting naked for them.