“There’s more to it,” He says and I close my eyes, loving how his voice flows over me like honey. Damn. He’s got to be an actor. At least a voice actor. Damn. Too yummy.
Though, I have to wonder if I’m also enjoying this position of power he’s got himself in. My ex was not at all the kind of guy who actually held power. He tried, but a lot can be said about he who tried.
Tried can lead to failed. Hell, I think it does more often than not.
With my ear pressed to the wall, I can hear Connor’s anger rising. He’s starting to get quieter. The edge of his voice is growing sharper, more dangerous by the word. “That’s not good enough,” he says, his voice like honeyed perfection. I shiver, loving the depth of it, the hum that’s deep in his throat as he speaks such dangerous words.
Damn. Maybe I’d like to be in her place right now. This is weirdly sexy.
“I don’t know what you want me to say!” She says, her voice angry as she lashes out for the first time. But it’s a quiet anger, a gentle lash. She’s aware of her noise level, she’s keeping it to a respectful minimum. Not something someone would do if they were really in trouble. And it makes it obvious he’s not controlling her volume. She could scream and he’d clearly not do anything to stop it.
Right?
“Were you going to try to take Olivia again?” He snarls, and I feel that tickle of pure pleasure down my spine again. Damn it, this is oddly stimulating. What is with his voice? Maybe he’s using something to make it weird. Some kid of voice altering device. Something that gives his voice impossible layers of depth and power.
Or I’m just fucking losing it and getting wet over the voice of a stranger who might be a serial killer. Or a kidnapper. Or a method actor. Eww. It’s hard to tell which of those is worse. Or not. Method acting by a mile. I only knew one serious method actor, and he was the kind of weird you don’t associate with if you’ve got a vagina.
Clearly, I’m not the only one who got that memo. Facebook has officially declared him a virgin for life. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I mean, it’s less hassle and heartbreak. Or so I hear.
Chapter 4
Connor
“There’s more to it,” I Say, hating that she’s trying to be sneaky. Sure, I know that there’s more to it. I know that it’s not so simple, so sweet and unassuming as she’s trying to pretend it is. People don’t do things without ulterior motives.
She had a reason for everything she did. Otherwise she wouldn’t have done it. It’s as simple as that. So if she’s not giving me the reason, she’s not giving me what I need.
And while I’m patient, I’m ready to move this along a bit more. I’ll push and see if she cracks. Upping the fear she feels is a risky move; she might shut down. But if she breaks, I’ll get what I need, I’m sure of it.
“I swear I don’t know what you want,” she whimpers, so softly I have to strain to hear her.
I’m not accepting such a weak response. She needs to know that. “That’s not good enough,” I say, backing off a step to give her some air. I’ll get back in her face next time she tries to feed me a line of bullshit like I’m some stupid asshole who’s never actually dealt with people before.
She snaps. A little bit. Not all the way. Not in a helpful way. It’s a loss and a win, I guess. “I don’t know what you want me to say!” she says, her anger apparent in her voice as she speaks, but she’s careful to be quiet as I warned her to be.
I don’t need the cops knocking on the door. It took a lot to make sure she was under my thumb. I’ve got enough dirt on her I doubt she’d ever try to cross me. And further than that, if she fucks with me, I can make sure she really never sees Olivia again. I’ll do anything to protect my niece.
Anything.
And if that means being a monster, I’ll do it. And gladly.
“Were you going to try to take Olivia again?” I ask, my voice a growl deep in my throat. I’m in her face again, my arms flexed as I grip the chair so hard I’m seconds from splintering it into toothpicks. I need to know what she’s planning, damn it.
I need a good night’s sleep knowing I’m not going to be woken up to a phone call that Olivia is gone. I don’t want to agonize with my family until we get the call that she didn’t survive it this time.
Because she almost didn’t survive it last time.
“You almost killed her,” I remind Cami with my darkest tone. “You wrecked the fucking car because you were blitzed out of your fucking mind. You almost killed her.”
She’s crying now and I’m so fired up I feel rage surging in my blood. I remember Olivia in the hospital. I remember the pain, the broken expressions. I remember how shattered everyone was. The thought of losing her was nearly enough to kill my mother. It wrecked Kieran.
And Cami? She got off with a slap on the wrist and a court order to join some recovery programs.
For almost killing a child.
If that isn’t a punishment that doesn’t fit the crime, I don’t know what is.
“I know,” She whimpers. “I live with that every day. That’s why I’m trying to tell you, I just wanted to see her.” She looks up at me, her face wet with tears. “She dies in my dreams. She dies,” She says, her shattered voice failing her part of the way through.
I’m the last person in the world who might pity her. “Good,” I snarl, “let her go, then. She’s dead to you. Walk away.”
“I can’t,” Cami says, her head hanging like a rose from a broken stem.
“You can,” I tell her, keeping my voice strong. I’m still angry. I want to know why. I need answers. “And you can tell me why.” The wooden back of the char fractures under the force of my hands and she jolts, terror written into her face.
She should be scared.
“I don’t know!” She cries out.
“Bullshit,” I say, tired of her games. “Were you going to try to take her again?” That’s the thing I need to know. I need her to tell me. I need to hear her say it so I can figure out if she’s lying. But I need her to deny it or agree. One or the other, so I can see her eyes, see if she’s lying.
But she’s looking away, down at her lap, at her hands, at her clean nails. And I take stock for a second. I’m attempting to put logic to the actions of a drug-addled mind. Maybe I have my answer. But still, I want to hear her say it. And her refusal to cooperate is making me mad.
Her silence hangs between us like a cloud. I drop the chunk of wood that broke free to the ground with a satisfying thud. Her wince is also more satisfying than I’d like to admit. I don’t get off torturing people. But then again, I’m not sure Cami is actually a person.
No, she’s a monster that very much manages to be worse than I am even at my very worst. I’d never hurt a helpless child.
“Are you going to try to take her?” I ask, my patience wearing thin. It’s starting to feel like she’s jerking me around. Why else wouldn’t she answer me such a simple question? She shouldn’t have to even think about it.
No, I’m not.
Not a hard phrase.
But yes I am would be very hard to admit. Even I wouldn’t want to be in her place saying those words to my face.
I decide to up her fear another notch. With a show of anger I don’t actually feel, I kick the plastic trash bin across the room. Cami yelps and flinches away from me.
The can strikes the wall and I hear a very audible, “Ouch.” On the other side of it.
Someone is listening.
Fuck.
Chapter 5
Jane
There’s a knock at my door and I freeze. So much for hoping he didn’t hear me. Rubbing the ear that had taken the brunt of the loud sound of whatever hit the wall, I try to decide if I should stay quiet. Maybe he’ll think he imagined me.
“Room service,” The voice on the other side says, but I know better. I’d know that voice anywhere. Anywhere. That voice is going to haunt my dreams and maybe even my every waking moment.
what is he going
to do if he finds me? And why does the thought add a sinister excitement to the liquid fear I feel pumping through my veins? This is so not the time to be crushing on the guy’s incredibly alluring voice and just as impressive quiet rage.
My heart slams in my chest as I try to figure out what to do. It was clever of him to say that he’s room service. But I didn’t order anything. I bet that’s a good way to get into people’s rooms, though.
What do I do? What should I do?
Standing frozen by the wall I’d been listening through before the whole thing had reverberated with a painful slam, I stare at the door, then around the room. It’s not a beautiful place, it’s not bad either. The door to the bathroom is slightly open and I see the issue I’d had the first day I’d come here; the shower curtain, when pulled back, looks like a person’s shadow standing there.
What annoyed me then feels like a life saver now. Because a half-formed plan is knocking about in my panic addled mind. Struggling to breathe normally and be quiet, I glance at the door again. He’s gone silent. What is he going to do next?
Panic pounds at my temples in time with my heartbeat and I run my tongue over the roof of my mouth. It feels like I’m rubbing a dry stone over damp tissue paper. It’s disgusting. What should I do?
Gathering what I know about this man, I can make a few judgments. Clearly, he’s not going to stop. If he’s willing to kidnap someone, then he’s willing to do bad things, criminal things.
I need to hide.
Under the bed? At a glance, I know that’s not a good idea. Everyone always looks there first. I’m not a fucking five year old playing hide and seek, I’m a grown woman needing to escape a terrifying man-beast who’s obviously gunning for me now.
I wonder what Cami is doing? Is she cowering in the other room, thanking her lucky stars? Or is she working with the man trying to get into my room right now?
I need to think clearly. Hiding is a stupid idea. Unless I hide in such a way that I can get away.
Glancing around the room again, my gaze comes to rest on the door as he knocks again, saying he’s room service.
My half formed plan suddenly slips into sight like a kaleidoscope shifting into a familiar pattern. If I get behind the door, he might come into the room looking for me. That bathroom shadow that looks like a person might be enough to lure him in. Once he’s in the room, I can slip out the front door and run.
With terror backing bile up my throat, I walk toward the front door. My heart is hammering so hard against my ribs, I’m worried he’ll hear it even now. It feels like such a thin barrier between us. On the other side of this wooden slab stands the man whose voice makes me melt, but whose questionable life choices leave me terrified of him.
Still, my heart beats quicker at the thought of him being so close.
I hear what sounds like him shifting his weight on the other side. The floorboards under him groan a little and I want to silently congratulate myself. Clearly, he’s tall. And beefy. Because I don’t make the floor boards make noise. Then again, I’m a tiny, slim girl.
Still, now doesn’t seem like the time for showboating.
I hold my breath. What is he doing? Is he considering his next move? I stare at the wall, seeing how dirty the paint seems. Up this close, I realize that this spot on the wall is clearly touched a lot but not cleaned a lot. Gross.
He knocks again, this time with a soft, gentle knock.
I wonder if he can hear me as I let out my breath. My heart is thundering against my ribs and I feel faint. The suspense is killing me. Why doesn’t he do something? Why not make some move? Put me out of my misery.
“Room service,” he says again, this time quieter. As much as I want to tell him I didn’t order anything, that I’m not interested, I still feel that it’s smarter to stay quiet. I don’t want him to know I’m here. I want him to think that he imagined hearing me.
However, with him still hovering right outside, I know that’s not an option.
My eyes stray to the door and I realize it’s not locked. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. Oh, god. If I lock it, he’ll hear it. I bet it won’t stop him even if I do lock it.
But, my brain reasons, what if he tries to open it and finds it locked? That might deter him, right?
Of course. Because a criminal always stops and thinks; Hey, I shouldn’t do this. It’s a crime. I wouldn’t want to be a bad guy.
Rolling my eyes at that stupid, shortsighted line of thinking, I decide not to lock it. The sound would tell him I’m right here on the other side of the door and would ruin any chance of a getaway. At least this way he won’t break the door.
Still, what are the odds he’ll actually try to come in? I mean-
The door handle turns and my heart stops.
Oh, fuck.
Chapter 6
Connor
The handle turns under my hand and I push the door open. Scanning the room before I step over the threshold, I feel every nerve in my body come alive in a very real response of fight; not flight.
The wall I share with this person looks like they’ve set up a station to listen. On a nightstand that’s been moved over there is a drink, still beaded up with condensation. Prickles run up and down my skin as I study the place, unwilling to actually walk all the way in.
I don’t know that I’m not walking into a trap.
Whose room is this? Why are they listening to my conversation with Cami? Is she double crossing me?
I dismiss the idea. She’s not a mastermind like that. Even her best formulated plots have been hare brained and riddled with mistakes. No, this is something else. And I’m going to get to the bottom of it.
Because the information that we’d been discussing next door is a bit too sensitive for me to trust just anyone to understand. And I may have incriminated myself. So for now, I’d like to at least talk to this person, to figure out what they know, why they’re listening, and what they want.
Everyone wants something.
There’s a tiny sound near me and that icy hot wave of prickling sensations roar over my flesh. But I don’t react. I know better than to jump first and ask questions later. I realize that whoever it is is behind the door.
Smart. They’d expected me to barge in and charge through the place like a tornado looking for them. I’m sure they’d have used those precious few seconds to slip out the door. They’d be gone before I could even realize I’d missed them.
This is why I don’t act first. Rational, intelligent thinking means covering every base. It means considering every angle. It means not charging in and hoping for the best. Meticulous planning and logical progression of situations lead to favorable outcomes.
I grab the door and swing it closed.
Behind it, a slim girl presses her back to the door, her terror shining in her face as she stares up at me with wide hazel eyes. Her dark hair is woven into a messy braid over her shoulder that is loose at the end and beginning to unravel. It’s a pleasing representation of her situation, I think. Poetic.
Her little white shorts show a beautiful length of legs. There’s a beautiful outward curve of her thighs and her hips are a bit wide for her tiny frame. Her belly is flat and peeks at me from under her little tank top with every breath she takes. I can even see the slight jut of her hip bones before they disappear under the waistband of her shorts.
The shirt shows off the tucked in shape of her waist and doesn’t hide the delicate flare of her ribs. With every deep, terrified breath she takes, her chest rises and falls, lifting the hem of her shirt to show me a line of belly before lowering to meet the top of her shorts again.
The neckline of the shirt plunges and offers a glimpse of the top curve of her breasts and a hint of her cleavage. Her breasts aren’t huge, no, they’re just the right size for her small frame. I doubt she’s more than a b cup, but it suits her. She’s not drop dead sexy, but there’s an allure to her I can’t deny.
Her eyes are locked on me like I’m a wolf preparing to eat her. I bet she
’s watching me study her, certain there’s a totally different fate for her. Because I’m not above leveraging her fear to get to her.
Her face is pretty in a girl next door way. There’s nothing overtly beautiful about her, but her features are pleasing.
She’s trembling.
Her hand comes up, like she’s going to brush the hair from her face, but I grab her wrist.
There’s very real terror in her eyes and I notice all the little rings decorating her graceful fingers. I stay locked on her gaze as her lips part slightly. Her full lower lip trembles slightly and I can feel her pulse on the inside of her wrist where I’m still holding her.
Her eyes dart to my arm before meeting mine again.
I know she’s trying to push back hard into the wall as if she can melt into a puddle of wet paint, but I step in closer. Her skin is soft against the rough calluses of my hand. I can see her heart beat against the hollow at the base of her throat and I see something sparkling in her eyes. Fear, of course, but something that looks quite like excitement.
This might be harder than I thought.
My body responds to the sudden flash of heat in her expression. She’s turned on right now, I can feel it in her pulse, I can see it in her eyes, I can smell it.
Her eyes dart to my lips and I know she’s thinking about how it would feel if I kissed her. The rise and fall of her chest becomes quicker and something quite like a whimper leaves her throat. She’s so close to me I can feel her heat. I can feel her body pushing toward me even as she recoils in fear and self-loathing. I get it. She’s hating herself even as she craves something I can give her. Oh, what a sweet contradiction.
She’s not even pulling her arm in a feeble attempt to free herself, no, she’s totally at my mercy in every single way possible. And it’s fucking turning her on. Jesus, I want her right now. Everything in me struggles against lifting her, pushing her to the wall, pulling those little shorts to the side and plunging up in her.
Billionaire Bash: The Complete Steele Series Page 51
