She huffs out a laugh. “You’re my boyfriend, not my father, and I won’t apologize for being honest. God knows Sierra doesn’t stop to consider anyone else’s feelings when she speaks her mind.”
Ben opens his mouth, to defend me again, I assume, but I cut across him this time. “It’s fine, Ben. I’m used to Saskia’s personal brand of education. And I don’t care what she says,” I lie, stuffing the cupcake into my mouth while I spit fire at my sister through my eyes.
She pins me with a disgusted look, opening her mouth to insult me, I’m sure, but she stops, mouth open like a fish out of water, when Ben levels her with a dark look that is kinda scary.
“Can we be done with this?” she asks a few seconds later when she’s composed herself.
Ben mutters under his breath, his chest heaving, before nodding.
Swallowing the delicious light spongy texture, I race to the table, snatch the painting I had set aside, and dash to the door before they leave. “Thank you for the cupcake,” I tell him, thrusting the drawing at him. “I painted this for you.”
He smiles as he takes the painting, his eyes carefully examining the picture I created especially for him. “A firefly, glowing with light and energy just like the little girl who drew it,” he says.
I try not to feel disappointment at his “little girl” comment, but it’s hard not to feel dejected. I know my feelings will never be returned, and comments like that shatter the illusion. Yet I’d rather dwell in blissful ignorance when it comes to Bennett Carver.
“Thank you, Sierra. I love it.” He bends down, pressing a soft kiss to my cheek, and my legs almost go out from under me. Behind him, Saskia smirks, her haughty expression telling me she knows all about my crush on her boyfriend. “I will treasure it always.”
Saskia rolls her eyes. “It’s a stupid painting from an impressionable kid with a crush. Please don’t pretend like it’s some masterpiece.”
“You’re being a complete bitch, and my patience is in limited supply,” Ben tells her, looking like he’s two seconds away from snapping her neck.
I’m not sure I’d care if he did.
“Oh, relax.” Saskia attempts to laugh it off. “You’re so tense tonight.” She grabs his shoulders, digging her hands in. “But I can help with that after dinner,” she purrs, and my stomach lurches painfully.
“Would it kill you to be nice?” he asks, his eyes darting between Saskia and me.
“I am nice,” she protests, and I barely resist another eyeroll. “And I really don’t get why you bother. It’s not like she’s your little sister.”
A muscle pops in his jaw, and I inwardly rejoice at the fact my sister appears to have foot-in-mouth disease tonight. Maybe Ben has finally wised up. Maybe he’s planning to break up with her. God, I hope so, because he deserves so much better.
My joy is short-lived though as I contemplate what it would mean. I wouldn’t see him anymore. He wouldn’t bring me cupcakes from the Mountainview Bakery, and he wouldn’t talk to me about my art or ask how school is, and I’d have one less person who seems to care about me in my life.
But I can sacrifice that if it means he is free of the witch and he finds someone nice who appreciates him.
“If I had a sibling,” Ben says, “I would cherish him or her and do everything to build them up, not tear them down. You don’t realize how lucky you are.”
“And you don’t realize how lucky you are being an only child,” she retorts.
Ben shoves her hands off him, and I can tell he’s working hard to control his temper. “Let’s just get out of here before we miss our dinner reservation,” he says after a few silent beats. He turns to me one final time, gracing me with a beautiful smile. “Good night, Firefly.”
“Good night, Ben.”
Maybe I had a sixth sense that night, but that was the last time I saw him. Less than a week later, Ben had mysteriously disappeared. Vanished without telling anyone, leaving his girlfriend behind without a word, fueling her anger and her heartbreak.
Over the years, I wondered what happened to him. Whether he was safe. Whether he was happy. Until he stopped occupying space in my head and I managed to forget him.
I never thought I’d ever see him again.
I never thought I’d need him to rescue me.
And I certainly never thought I’d grow to fear him.
PART I - EIGHT YEARS LATER
1
SIERRA
“Bottoms up, babe!” Esme roars over the deafening noise of the club. “It’s time to get officially drunk for the first time.”
“It feels good to be legal now.” No more fake ID’s for me. Yay! Quickly licking the salt off my hand, I knock back the tequila shot, grimacing as it burns sliding down my throat.
“Now we’re all twenty-one,” Penelope confirms, shuddering as she drains her shot. “And the world is definitely our oyster.”
I’m the last of my friends to celebrate this milestone, so we decided to celebrate in style. Hence why we are currently in one of the top nightclubs in Sin City, groomed to within an inch of our lives, and ready to party with a capital P.
“Says the girl who is already engaged,” Esme replies, arching one elegant brow as she tosses her long wavy locks over one shoulder.
“What the hell has that got to do with it?” Penelope asks, narrowing her warm brown eyes at Esme.
“Nope.” I shake my head, eyeballing them. “You two are not getting into it tonight. It’s my birthday, and we’re in Las Vegas, on a freebie, courtesy of my parents, and I’m deeming it an argument-free zone. No fighting on my birthday, capisce?” I wave my finger in their faces.
I love these girls to bits. They are more my sisters than Saskia and Serena, and they bicker as much as real sisters do. You couldn’t find two more different women, but we’ve all been close since middle school, and I can’t imagine my life without them in it. They have kept me from rocking in a corner when my family has driven me to the point of insanity.
“You just had to pull the birthday-girl card, huh?” Esme grins as she reaches over to grab the tray of cocktails from the waiter when he sets it down on our table. “Thanks,” she mouths, pinning the hottie with one of her trademark flirtatious grins.
Esme is drop-dead gorgeous with thick dark-red hair and striking green eyes that are even brighter than my emerald peepers, but it’s her winning personality that seduces every man who sets eyes on her. Esme is a woman who knows what she wants and goes for it. I like to think we share similar traits in that regard, but I’m less obvious when going after something I want.
“Fine. You win.” Penelope readily concedes because she’s not one to hold a grudge. With her big eyes, petite frame with voluptuous curves in all the right places, and her straight-talking attitude, Pen is no less of a catch than Esme. Leaning across the low black-and-red velvet couch, she kisses Esme on the cheek as she accepts a vodka cocktail from her. “Love you, babe.”
“Right back at ya.” Esme blows her a kiss before handing me a cosmopolitan. The other five girls in our party—a mix of friends from our hometown in Chicago and a couple of girls from college—snatch cocktails until the tray is empty.
We chat and laugh as we drain our drinks, and I’m nicely buzzed. Coming to Vegas was a genius idea, and I really owe Esme for organizing the entire trip. I know Pen helped out too, but she’s in the thick of wedding planning, and Esme didn’t want her stressing out so she did the bulk of the work. I would’ve helped, if I had been allowed, but the girls wanted the details kept a surprise until we arrived.
“Let’s dance,” Tammy says, tugging on my elbow as some of the girls stand, heading away from our table. We’re in a reserved section of the lower level of the club, and Esme has paid for the table so it is ours for the night.
“Come on.” I rise, lifting one shoulder, as I glance down at Pen and Esme. I’m not going dancing without my besties. The girls need little encouragement, polishing off their drinks before they follow us out of our sectio
n and into the main body of the large club.
The place is teeming with people. Although lighting is low, my eyes drink in the surroundings, admiring the attention to detail. I hope whoever designed this place got a nice fat bonus. They’ve gone with a fire theme, and the décor is a mix of different materials and colors, all in various shades of red, orange, black, and gold. Decadent crystal chandeliers hang over our heads, and it’s obvious no expense has been spared. Multicolored strobe lights stretch across the room from the dance floor, providing bursts of illumination as we make our way through the main room.
We weave a path through the crowd and out onto the large dance floor. Pulsing beats reverberate off the walls from the large DJ booth at the top of the room. It’s on an elevated platform, and a large screen projects illusory flames of fire across the dance floor at intermittent intervals. I grin as I stare up at the ceiling, joining my friends as we lift our arms, jumping in our heels as we try to touch the fiery projection.
We dance for a few songs, gathering some admirers, but there is no one who catches my eye enough to flirt with. I expand my search, scanning the other side of the dance floor for willing victims. “See anyone you like?” Esme inquires, noticing my perusal.
“Not so far, but the night is still young.” I waggle my brows, and she grins, looping her arm through mine. “Let’s go hunting. You definitely need to get laid. It’s practically a rite of passage.”
I roll my eyes, grabbing Pen’s arm as Esme tows me off the dance floor.
“What are we doing?” Penelope asks when Esme stops beside the bar. Shoving her way through to the front, Esme grabs one of the bartenders, shouting an order at him, completely oblivious to the daggers embedding in her back from other thirsty patrons.
“Hunting for prey.” I grin, scouting the guys hanging around the bar.
“I’ll come with,” Pen offers. “I know what you two are like if you are left to your own devices.”
“You can help vet them,” I agree because Pen has a great bullshit radar and she can sniff out an asshole from miles away.
“Don’t you ever feel like you’re missing out?” Esme rejoins us, handing out glasses filled with vodka cranberry.
“Esme.” I caution her with a look. “You promised.”
“I’m not stirring shit, I swear. I’m just curious.”
“Is your issue with Eric or that I’m engaged at twenty-one?” Penelope asks, and I’m guessing they’re having it out whether I lay down rules or not.
“It’s not Eric. I like him, a lot. He’s good to you,” Esme says.
“Then why do you keep busting my balls?” Pen asks in between slurping her drink.
“I just think you’re crazy getting tied down so young. I don’t want to see you making a mistake.”
I know this is coming from a good place, but I also know what’s driving Esme’s concern. “Pen isn’t your sister, and Eric isn’t that cheating asshole she married.”
Pen’s features soften. “I know you’re only worried for me, and I love you for that, but I know what I’m doing. I love Eric. He’s my soul mate, and I know there is no one else for me.”
“Verity thought doucheface was her soul mate too, and look how that ended up. Now she’s a struggling single mother with two small kids. He doesn’t even see them anymore. He’s too busy playing happy family with his new wife and baby son.”
“That sucks for Verity,” Pen says. “And that cockroach is the biggest slimeball to walk the planet, but just because that happened to her doesn’t mean it will happen to me.”
“I know I’m being irrational,” Esme replies, chewing on the corner of her lip. “But I couldn’t forgive myself if I kept my thoughts hidden and then something happened.”
“Nothing will happen,” I interject when I see the crestfallen look on Pen’s face.
The last thing I want is Esme planting doubts in her mind. I get where Esme is coming from, and I know it’s why she’s insistent on playing the field and not getting attached to any guy, but she can’t project her fears and insecurities onto others, because that’s just not fair. “Saskia married Felix when she was twenty-one, and Serena was twenty-three on her wedding day,” I remind her. “It’s not unheard of to marry young.”
“I’m not sure you should use either of your sisters as an example of matrimonial bliss,” Esme replies, flashing a grin at someone over my shoulder.
“You’re probably right.” I doubt Saskia would be happy no matter who she married, and Serena shocked the hell out of me by marrying one of my father’s oldest friends. She kept their relationship a secret from me, which still hurts, and we don’t have much contact these days so I have no clue if she’s happy in her marriage or not. All I know is she got knocked up pretty fast after the wedding and she dotes on my little niece Elisa.
“But neither of them were madly in love with their husbands,” I add, wanting to reassure Pen. I rub her arm and smile. “It’s clear you’re head over heels in love, and Eric is a great guy. He adores you and treats you like a princess. You two are so good together, and if it feels right, that’s all that matters. Do what your heart is telling you to do.”
“Do you really believe that, or are you just saying it to keep the peace?” Esme asks, looking genuinely curious.
“I really believe that.” I tuck a stray piece of my long blonde hair behind one ear before taking another mouthful of my drink.
“I wish I could.” The smile slips off Esme’s face, and a semi-tense silence descends.
“Hey, this is supposed to be a celebration, so no long faces.” Pen nudges both of us in our sides. “You never know, both your soul mates could be in this very room. We should mingle.”
Esme throws one arm around my shoulders and her other around Pen’s. “I’m more in the market for a devil mate,” she jokes. “But you can help.” A mischievous grin appears on her face. “I’ll just go after the ones you reject as unworthy.”
“Lord help us.” Pen shakes her head as I tap out a quick message to Tammy so the others know where we are. “One of these days, that attitude is going to get you in serious trouble.”
“As long as we’re there to bail Esme out, she’s good,” I say, slipping my cell into the small pocket of my black and gold dress.
We walk around with our drinks in our hands, scouting the talent, as we make a full circle of the room, checking out all the options. There is a mix of men here. Old. Young. Hot. Not so hot. A few groups of men whistle and holler as we stroll past, and we stop a couple times, indulging in mild flirtations before moving on. Maybe it’s my mood, but none of the cute guys we meet are doing it for me.
“Oh my God.” Esme slams to a halt, and I spill some of my fresh vodka cranberry on the hardwood floor. “Did you see him?”
“See who?” Pen and I ask in unison.
“Saverio Salerno.” She licks her lips, and her eyes become alive. I can almost see the wheels churning in her head as she plots and plans.
“Should I know who that is?” I’ve never heard of the dude. I follow her line of sight to the back of a tall guy, heading toward the VIP door at the side of the room. He’s wearing a black tailored suit that looks expensive, and his dark hair is cropped quite close to his head. His shoulders are broad, his arms straining the material of his suit jacket, so the guy is obviously ripped.
“He owns this place and a couple of casinos,” she supplies, lowering her voice an octave. “It’s rumored he’s part of the mob.”
Pen and I trade looks. Spotting the excitement on Esme’s face, I already know we’re screwed. “Please don’t tell me you’re interested in pursuing a man like that?”
“You know I love a bad boy and I thrive on a challenge.”
“We also know you are reckless with little regard for your personal safety,” Pen says, looking worried as she runs a hand through her quirky brown bob.
“You know I normally support your escapades,” I say, “but if the rumors are true, he doesn’t sound like the kind of
man you should even look twice at, let alone sleep with.”
I have a rebellious streak in me too—just ask my father. I’m sure he has a long list of bad behavior he could mention—but I know where to draw the line, and this is it. I wet my dry lips, tossing my soft blonde curls over my shoulder, as I contemplate how to divert this train wreck. “We should go to another club,” I blurt. “Who knows when we might get to come to Vegas together again. We could go on a club crawl.”
Esme winks. “Nice try, but I’m not leaving until I at least say hello to the man.”
“This has bad idea written all over it,” Pen mutters, eyeing the man’s back with a wary expression. “I’d like to arrive home alive.” She drills Esme with a loaded look. “As in, not wearing a body bag.”
“My God, Pen. Chill out. You are totally overreacting.”
I’m not sure she is, but what harm could it do to say hi to the guy? I know how stubborn Esme is, and if we keep resisting, it will only make her more determined.
“Let’s say hi and then talk to the others and see if they want to stay or go?” I suggest.
“I can compromise with the best of them.” Esme grins. Pen mumbles under her breath, but she gives up fighting too. Esme smooths a hand down the front of her short green dress. “How do I look?”
“Stunning, like always,” I say.
“I’m not sure a man like that is after stunning,” she muses, keeping her eyes locked on him as he stops to converse with a small group of men about ten feet from the enclosed VIP area.
“He’s still a man, and they all think with their dicks.” I tug the front of my strapless dress up, checking that I’m not showing more than a socially acceptable level of cleavage. I smother a snort of hilarity. If my father could hear my thoughts now, he’d be proud.
“This is a terrible idea,” Pen mutters, looping her arm in mine as we follow Esme toward the man.
“We both know there’s no talking Esme out of something once she has made up her mind. We can’t let her approach him alone. If anything were to happen to her, we would never forgive ourselves.”
Condemned to Love:  Page 2
