by Skye Warren
“Don’t talk to me about the money.”
He looks frustrated. “You don’t understand. There aren’t—”
“Just stop, okay? I’m not stealing from you. Not stealing from Ivan either.”
As much as I hate the idea of stealing from him, of West knowing the truth about me, I can’t forget that Jeb’s life is on the line here. Maisie’s too. Even mine. But I’d never be able to crack the safe and hold a gun on him at the same time. He’d turn the tables on me before then. The best I can hope for is to get away and figure something else to give the cartel.
His voice is low, and that damned earnestness is back on his handsome face. “You don’t need to steal from anyone. I can help you.”
“You don’t know a damn thing,” I whisper, but I’m already backing away, already working my way up the stairs. I don’t want to hear anything else he has to say, fake promises that can never come true. There’s no happy ending for someone like me. I’m a thief and a stripper. And once the mafia realizes I’m Jeb’s daughter, I’m as good as dead.
When I get to the top of the stairs, I toss the gun aside and run for it. It’s not my smoothest exit, but then everything about West twists me up.
I think he could have caught me. I know he could have.
But I make it out the front doors of the Grand, where the morning light has already split over downtown Tanglewod. Then I’m dashing down the street to where Maisie is waiting for me—waiting for me to hand over the money that would have kept us alive.
Chapter Twelve
Maisie knows I don’t have the money as soon as I show up. For one thing that much cash would be large and heavy, filling the expandable bag in my safecracking kit. And for another thing, I’ve been gone for hours. Breaking into a safe of that magnitude would take a while, but we’re talking thirty minutes—not two hours.
It makes me wonder what she thought was happening all this time. Did she worry about me?
I know exactly what she was worried about.
“What am I going to tell the cartel?” she asks, already anxious. “You can go in again tomorrow night.”
I shake my head, trying not to be disappointed. She didn’t even ask if I’m okay when she must know something happened down in that basement. Maybe it had always been coming to this. Maybe this is what she wanted from me all along.
“They would be expecting me,” I say, more tired than sad. “The code will be changed, the doors and locks reinforced. A trick like that only works once.”
Actually it hadn’t worked at all. West had seen me coming. “I have another idea.”
Her expression is wary. “A way to get the money?”
“We go to Ivan.” West wants me to trust him, but I’m too far gone for that. But I might be able to make a deal with Ivan—with the devil of Tanglewood. I’d probably have to sell my soul. That’s all I deserve.
She gasps. “Bee, no.”
“He’ll be pissed when he finds out what we did.” He might even kill us and save the Caivanos the trouble. “But we don’t have any other options. At least Ivan knows I can earn money. I can work it off.” Though I might have to do more than stripping to earn that kind of money in this lifetime. My stomach is a hard, twisted knot.
“I can’t let you do that.”
I’m actually touched that she’s fighting this so hard. It’s always been her and Jeb against the world. I was their daughter, but not a loved and cherished child. I was more like the getaway driver or the strategically placed distraction, someone useful to have around for a con—unless I wasn’t.
The fact that she doesn’t want to give me up to the cartel means more than it should. “It’s the only way. I won’t let Jeb die, and you too, when I could stop it.”
“I’ll find another way,” she says, her voice rising. “I’ll negotiate with them.”
“They won’t negotiate,” I say softly. “Not after they’ve taken Jeb. It’s gone too far for that.”
“I’ll talk to them,” she says stubbornly.
Why won’t she see? “At least let me go to Ivan first. Then if I don’t—” If I don’t make it out alive. “If I don’t come back, then you’ll know it didn’t work.”
“You can’t.” Now she sounds almost petulant. It’s a familiar tone but strange at a time like this. I know how much she loves Jeb. I’ve had reason to doubt her love for me, but never him.
“I don’t understand,” I mutter, almost to myself.
“She doesn’t want you to understand.” The voice comes from the end of the alley. A voice I recognize. A voice that very recently was murmuring dirty words against my clit.
West.
I whirl, blocking Maisie with my body. “Leave her alone.”
“So protective.” He’s just a shadow, his body hidden by the building beside us. I can see he’s holding something. My bag. I must have left it behind in my rush, which is foolish.
This entire thing is foolish.
We’re deep in the alley, but the chain-link fence behind us doesn’t provide any cover or protection. “I didn’t take anything,” I say, raising my chin. “And you had your fun. Let me go now.”
He shakes his head. “I can’t do that. Not when you’re thinking of going with her.”
The way he says her makes my gut clench. I know she hasn’t been the best mother, but that’s for me to decide. Not him. “How do you know who she is?”
“She’s the one who sent you down to that basement. And she left you there while I did whatever I wanted with you.”
My insides turn cold. She did leave me there. She must have known it was taking longer than usual. Hell, she must have seen Blue when he left the Grand, proving I’d been caught.
She hadn’t come in after me.
Logically I know there wouldn’t have been any point to her getting caught too. The emotional side of me, the core of me is hurt that she let me suffer it alone. West didn’t hurt me. No, he fed me and made me climax—but she couldn’t know that about him.
I clench my hands into fists. “It’s not your concern.”
What I really mean is, I’m not your concern. Why should he care about me? No one else does.
He shakes his head, hearing exactly what I meant and denying it. “Someone has to look out for you,” he says. “And it’s not going to be her.”
The words pierce me deeper this time, and I have to lash back. “She was doing what she had to do. You don’t know what these people are capable of. They have my father.”
“Are you sure about that?” The question is so soft I might not have heard it, but it echoes in my head as if he shouted it.
“Of course I’m sure.”
Except now that he’s asked the question, I don’t know. Stealing fifty thousand dollars was a big fucking deal. It’s not implausible he could be taken as collateral.
And more to the point, if Jeb hadn’t been taken, why would Maisie lie?
As soon as I ask, I know the answer.
To get me to rob the Grand.
She and Jeb had proposed the idea when I first started working there, and I’d told her no. No fucking way. This was my chance to go straight, to earn an honest living, even if I did have to take my clothes off.
I turn to face her. Her expression tells me everything I need to know.
Glass cuts my insides. I need to hear the words. “Maisie?”
My voice is raw.
“Oh kid,” she says softly. “You always cared too damn much. I told you that.”
The air is too thick; I’m choking on it. Tears prick my eyes, and I can only stand there and stare at her. My mother. But not my mother. She may have given birth to me, but she has never loved me as a mother should. I could have forgiven her for leaving me down there with West, knowing what might have been happening. If she’d been desperate to save Jeb. But it turns out he wasn’t captured.
The worst part is that it doesn’t surprise me. This is who she is.
That doesn’t keep it from hurting. The pain runs
along deep ruts in my heart, places that have been trod over again and again. It’s all I can do to stand upright in that alley, with trash and broken glass strewn around me like debris.
“Where is he?” I whisper.
She has the grace to blush. “At our motel room.”
I picture the dried blood on his ring. Who cut themselves for that blood? “Does he know?”
“It was his idea.” Her eyes shut against the pain—or what looks like pain. I can’t tell anymore. I believed she was worried for Jeb, that she feared for his life, but that had been a lie. “The debt was real, but he was worried you wouldn’t go through with it.”
West moves in front of me, shielding me from her view. “Go,” he says.
“What are you going to do with her?” I hear her ask. I can’t even look anymore.
I never want to see her again.
“You lost the right to ask that question,” he says. “Now get the fuck out of my sight before I call the cops.”
I stare down at the ground, the glitter of wet rocks and the sheen of dewy puddles, as her footsteps fade away. Then there’s only West and me in the alley, only the knowledge of what I did to him and what he did in return. And all my reasons, all my dreams turned to ash.
Chapter Thirteen
I wrap my fingers around the hot cup of…what is this? I breathe in the steam. Tea.
West pushed it into my hand a few minutes after sitting me down on his couch. He wrapped a thick afghan throw over my shoulders. Now he’s in the kitchen, speaking in low tones to someone on the phone. Probably Blue. He’ll have to explain why I’m not in police custody—or worse.
It doesn’t seem to matter anymore, what happens to me. Lock me up. Throw away the key. It’s not like I had some great future ahead of me. It’s not like I have anyone who’ll care when I’m gone.
West enters the large open living space, tossing his phone onto a side table. His apartment is a huge loft in the part of Tanglewood undergoing a resurgence. Old buildings are being remodeled and rented out. This place has exposed brick and stainless steel. It wouldn’t have come cheap.
If I had pictured him anywhere, it would have been in a simple, bare apartment one step up from my own. And I would have been wrong. The walls could use some artwork, but the place is fully furnished in the kind of restrained, comfortable style that speaks of money.
My faded bag looks ridiculous leaning against the side of the plush, luxurious sofa.
He looks down at my tea, his expression disapproving. “Drink.”
I consider making a dirty joke about that or maybe just flat out refusing. Except what would be the point? He proved in that basement that he could master me if he chooses. And after what happened in that alley… Don’t think about that.
After what happened in that alley, I don’t really have any fight left in me.
I take a sip. The hot liquid burns its way down, but it doesn’t touch the chill inside me.
West’s frown deepens. He sits across from me on the rustic wood coffee table. I barely feel the cup leave me fingers as he sets it aside.
“Bianca. Talk to me.”
I tilt my head. “About what?”
He gives me a low laugh, almost like he’s laughing at himself. “About what happened in that alley. About what I did to you in that basement. Hell, you can talk to me about the weather if you want to. I just need to hear your voice. I need to know you’re okay.”
“I’m not okay.”
He swears under his breath. “Shit. After what your parents did, of course you’re not.”
“How do you know she’s my parent?”
He gives me a self-deprecating look. “I’m not blind. As much as I’ve tried to be since I started working at the Grand. It’s hard to miss the resemblance.”
“Yeah.” My voice sounds hollow. “I’ve always looked like her.”
I’ve always been like her, using my body and my smile to get what doesn’t belong to me. I tried to change. I tried to go straight, but look where that got me.
He swears again. “I should have had her arrested.”
I feel strangely numb, as if I’m only watching things happen. “Why didn’t you?”
“It would have been complicated to explain your involvement. And we would have had to go down to the police station tonight.”
I pull the afghan tighter around my shoulders, grateful I’m at his loft instead of a cold police station. “What are you going to do with me?”
“Right now? I’m going to put you to bed. You’re falling asleep just sitting there.”
“You were never going to turn me in, were you?” I say suddenly, already knowing it’s true.
He shakes his head slowly. “We got word that someone was offering cash for the security code. Blue had the idea to give it to them, to set the ambush and catch them in the act.”
And then I really would have been in a jail cell tonight. “You didn’t let him. Why?”
Because he wanted to fuck me? He didn’t even do that. Because he wanted to taste me? There were easier ways to accomplish that.
Hope beats in my breast that maybe it’s something more. Maybe it’s because he cares about me. I’ve spent my whole life stealing or being stolen from, being a thief or being a mark. I could never trust him. Never trust anyone.
“You need rest,” he says gently. “We can talk in the morning.”
And just like that the hope quiets.
Even if he did care about me before, how could he now? And even if he did still care, how could he ever trust me? I’ve ruined the only good thing I ever had, before I even knew I had it.
And I realize it isn’t about whether I can trust in him. I already know he’s good. My knight in shining armor. The question is whether I’m worthy of him, whether I deserve this—and I know the answer to that too. I’ve been nothing but a thief and a liar my whole life, from the moment I came out of the womb. Worthless.
Chapter Fourteen
I wake to a soft sound in the pitch-black. It takes me a minute to realize where I am. Not on my narrow bed with my thin, old sheets—but in West’s bed, a wide, plush mattress topped with butter-soft sheets. It smells faintly of him, spice and skin. I wish he were here with me, but I know without reaching for the other side of the bed that he’s not.
The soft sound draws my attention to the window, where rain has begun to fall. It’s still too warm to snow, but the glass, when I press my palm against it, feels like ice.
There’s no alarm clock cutting through the dark. I gave up carrying my phone around when I could no longer afford prepaid minutes. I don’t know what time it is. The darkness and the rain make it feel like we’re locked in an eternal night, even though it must be morning soon.
Most of the loft is a wide-open space. Only a few rooms are walled off—this bedroom, the bathroom, and the kitchen. I find West on the same couch that he comforted me on, the afghan have covering his jean-clad legs, his chest bare.
One arm is flung above his head, the other dropped over the side to the floor.
He looks comfortable and secure, the opposite of how I feel in these clothes I used to betray him. They’re comfortable enough for sleeping, but they’re a reminder of how I broke us apart.
His tattoos are barely visible in the darkness, only shadows whispering over his skin. I’d seen hints of them before, peeking out from his T-shirts, and I can’t see much more now. I trace one dark line down his bicep, but he doesn’t stir.
What would he do if he woke up? Would he send me back to bed? Or maybe I would have gotten enough rest for his conscious. He could send me away then.
I have no illusions that we’re going to last. That anything could happen between us now.
There’s an intimacy between us after what happened last night. After he put his mouth on me and protected me. That intimacy will fade under the cold glare of a winter morning, but it’s still here.
And I want to return the favor.
I let my finger keep going, ove
r the ridges of his abs, down to the bulge in his jeans. Morning wood. He didn’t let me touch him last night. That damned sense of honor strikes again. It can’t stop me now. I’m not tied up, and more importantly, I’ve already proven I don’t deserve any honorable treatment.
His cock swells beneath the zipper as I stroke him, but his arms and face don’t move. He’s feeling the pleasure, but he isn’t waking up. I prefer it that way, because he can’t judge me while he’s sleeping. He can only feel what I give him.
The denim is stretched taut now, so tight it’s hard to pull the zipper down without hurting him. His cock springs free, heavy and hard in my hands, warming me.
This answers the boxers-or-briefs question. Neither.
My thumb brushes over the tip, finding a well of salty liquid. I smooth the precum over the head of his cock, and his hips push up in unconscious response.
I kneel beside the couch, fisting him.
I don’t imagine that I have some special talent in this area. I’m only eighteen, which doesn’t leave a lot of room for experience, despite the fact that I started early—not every con goes smoothly, after all. Or someone needs a little extra incentive to provide a security code or guard schedule. My innocence was bartered early and often. Because we had to. Necessity. The same excuses Maisie had last night, but I’m done believing her. Even if it means I have to be alone.
I’m not alone now. For now I have West. I have his harsh breathing and his tense body. I have his cock that feels like molten steel against my palm.
Leaning forward, I taste him—a sharp, salty flavor that I know I’ll never forget.
A low groan comes from his chest, more of a rumble than a moan, but he still doesn’t stir. I might be in his dreams right now, a girlfriend from his past or some fantasy creation. Or I might be any one of the girls he’s brought home for the night. There must have been many.
It’s not really me he’s feeling, but I’m feeling him. The silky softness at the crown of his cock, the velvet thin skin that covers his shaft. The tight black hair that brushes against my hand every time my fist presses down.
