HAN: Her Ruthless Mistake: 50 Loving States, Delaware (Ruthless Triad Book 4)

by Theodora Taylor

  I’d spent a lot of time out here since I arrived, but I seldom saw Han. He’d closed all the sliding glass doors, leading inside when he came out to order me not to play my ukulele before noon. And he’d warned me that leaving them open was a security risk he didn’t want.

  But that was the first and last time I ever saw him out on his lanai. He didn’t seem to ever swim, and he was usually gone by the time I got back from afternoon classes and asleep when I woke up—at least until I did something to bring him out of his room, cursing and hissing at me.

  Speaking of which? Was he really not going to chew me out about taking off for that interview? Guess not. I found him sitting on the couch when I came out dressed for class in the surf shorts and rash guard I’d left to dry on the lanai after that morning’s Dawn Patrol class.

  “See ya later,” I said, throwing him a shaka. Then I rushed out the door. He didn’t try to stop me. And I had a great time that evening, teaching Chen and a bunch of intermediate tourists how to safely surf at night without any incident.

  “I’m getting pretty good,” Chen said as we climbed out of the car in the open-air garage underneath the complex’s building.

  “Yeah, you are!” I gave him a high-five as we walked to the elevator doors. “And you get free coaching in exchange for having to watch me all day.”

  “I don’t mind,” he assured me. “The guys back in RI aren’t going to believe it when they see me on the board.”

  His mention of Rhode Island reminded me to ask, “When do you think you’ll be going back to Rhode Island?”

  And let me get on with my life, I silently added.

  Chen shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. To tell the truth, I didn’t expect the boss to keep us here this long. We were only supposed to be in Hawaii for about a month when he brought us out last August.”

  “What happened to make him change his mind?”

  Chen jabbed a thumb into the elevator up button. “He says he found some new opportunities….”

  Chen trailed off, forcing me to prod, “But you don’t believe him?”

  Chen threw me an unreadable look. “You really asking me this?” he asked. His Rhode Island accent, which sounded like a muted version of the one Boston was so famous for, came out a little thicker than usual.

  “Yeah, I’m really asking,” I answered, scrunching my brow because I didn’t understand why he was so confused about me asking him these questions. Of course, I wanted to know when they were leaving and why they had decided to stay in the first place.

  Chen just cast me another significant look and said, “The water in RI’s cold as…whatever’s the opposite of hell—even in the summer. Can’t say I’m looking forward to that.”

  It was such an obvious change of subject. But the surfing teacher in me couldn’t resist making suggestions for some full-body wetsuits he might look into, so he could floss his new skills in relative comfort.

  We laughed and joked about surfing in cold water as we rode in the elevator. But instead of escorting me all the way up to the top floor like he usually did, he got off on the seventh, where all eight of Han’s men were staying in shared two-bedroom apartments.

  “Sorry, can’t do dinner tonight,” he said as he stepped off.

  “Another hot date with the serial killer?” I asked, lifting both eyebrows.

  Chen had met a guy during one of my Dawn Patrol classes last week—or I should say re-met. He was the cute, laidback local who ran this Hawaiian BBQ food truck that Chen had become obsessed with after moving to Oahu. He’d even hooked us up with his delicious breakfast burritos a few times after Chen introduced himself and asked him out. He was pretty much perfect, except for one thing. His name was Dexter. So now I had to tease Chen forever about it.

  “Yeah, I do,” Chen answered, grinning ear to ear. “He’s taking me on a hike to Lanai Lookout to go stargazing.”

  I widened my eyes. “You mean Lanai Lookout, the perfect place to push some guy you just met over a cliff and claim it was an accident? You’re playing with your life, brah.”

  Chen just laughed and rolled his eyes. “Okay, see you later, Jazz.”

  So, I guess that meant I was on my own for dinner.

  I walked into the condo, wondering if that leftover Hawaiian BBQ from Sunday was still good. It looked like Chen wouldn’t be the only one playing with his life tonight—

  I stopped short of the kitchen. Not just because the lights were still on, but because Han was still there.

  Sitting exactly where I’d left him.

  “What’s up?” I asked him, slowing my roll toward the fridge. “You been sitting there all day?”

  Han didn’t answer, and I let out an exasperated sound.

  “Okay, this is just creepy,” I told him. “If you’re mad, just cuss me out or something, like a normal dude.”

  Again, Han said nothing.

  I shook my head. “Okay, I’m going to go wash all this saltwater off of me, and when I’m done, we’re hashing this out. I don’t care how long it takes. I did not sign up to star in one of those choke creepy arthouse horror films with you.”

  Want to guess how Han responded to that?

  Ding! Ding! Ding! He didn’t say a word.

  So okay, whatever…I went to my room and took a quick shower. After that, I headed into the walk-in closet to grab some clothes.

  Only to stop short for the third time that day as soon as I walked inside.

  I stared, then screamed.

  17

  HAN

  Han grinned when the scream issued from the room he had given to Jasmine. Not moving from his place on the couch for hours after he executed his plan might have struck her as creepy. But her reaction made the wait worth it.

  “You cut up all my shirts?” she all but screeched at him.

  Han scanned his eyes over the result of his handiwork—apparently, she’d tried one on to see if it was truly as bad as it looked before she wrapped a towel around her waist and came out here to confront him.

  He had to admit the tee had turned out a bit naughtier than he intended when he walked into Jasmine’s room with the shears he found in the kitchen. The cut hem barely reached below her nipples, and the bottom of her round globes hung like tantalizing fruit, sun kissed brown and begging for his touch.

  He might have overestimated the cut and underestimated the size of her breasts, he conceded as he adjusted in his seat to accommodate the suddenly hardened flesh between his legs.

  “I didn’t cut up all of your t-shirts. I assumed the competition shirts were valuable and stored them in my room.”

  “What about my rash guards? And all of my bikinis?” she demanded.

  “Those are in my room, too. You may—”

  She dashed to his side of the condo before he could finish that statement. Noise filled up the front room, the violent rattling of the door he’d locked…followed by several curse words.

  “Done?” he asked when she reappeared in front of him a few moments later, visibly fuming. “Ready to apologize?”

  “I’m sorry!” she snapped. “There! Are you happy? Can I have back my shirts?”

  This woman…she made punishing her so much more delightful than it would otherwise be if she’d simply learned to temper her emotions and not make everything she felt so patently obvious.

  “Of course,” Han answered. “All you have to do is ask me for one nicely. And as long as you promise to give it back as soon as you return to the apartment, I’ll grant your request.”

  She stared at him in complete shock. For one beat. Then two. Then she exploded. “You have got to be kidding me! You want me to beg? For my own damn clothes and underwear?”

  “Bikinis,” Han reminded her. “Remember, you don’t believe in underwear.”

  She stared at him for a hot, dangerous second. Then shouted, “No! No freaking way. I’ll buy my own tees and underwear myself.”

  He shrugged. “I thought you were saving every penny to pay me back. But
if that is how you would prefer to spend your money, so be it. I don’t mind. Meanwhile…”

  After hours of waiting, he finally rose from the couch. “I’m sure you noticed the new dresses hanging up in your closet. Put one on and do your makeup and hair. I expect you to be ready to go in thirty minutes and dressed appropriately.”

  “You can’t be serious,” she said.

  Han stepped closer to inform her, “I assure you, I am. And Jasmine…”

  He leaned to murmur in her ear the same as he did the first night they met. But this time, his words weren’t nearly as sweet.

  “I suggest you think twice before defying me again.”

  JAZZ

  So that was how I ended up walking into Compulsion, a trendy nightclub smack dab in the middle of Waikiki, hand in hand with the criminal whose Valentine’s date had referred to him as Han Zhiwei. This was my second time coming to the club. Brad’s manager had made us put in an appearance here once to get photographed by some paparazzi he’d hired to “catch us” out on a sweet, no-alcohol-whatsoever, date.

  There was no hired paparazzi there that night. But way more heads turned as we followed Chen toward the set of stairs that led up to VIP. I couldn’t be sure if the other patrons were staring at Han or me. He was as Fae King beautiful as ever in a crisp white suit paired with a blood-red shirt. And I wore nothing but a tiny silk mini dress.

  And I do mean nothing. My pride hadn’t let me ask for a bikini to wear underneath it, but I immediately regretted taking that stance when I climbed out of the car outside.

  The dress was well-made with a liner and an engineered bodice that wouldn’t let me sag underneath its crazy low neckline. However, I was deeply aware of the silky fabric scraping against my nipples and sensitive private parts. And no matter how much I tugged at the skirt’s hem, I couldn’t help but notice all the air on places I usually kept covered.

  Let me tell you, it was a real struggle to hold my head up as we followed Chen through the club with Yaron pulling up the rear.

  And I felt particularly exposed when we arrived at a VIP section where five more of Han’s guys were already seated.

  But I refused to give that okole puka the pleasure of seeing me cringe and squirm as they greeted Han in cheerful Cantonese.

  The roped-off section mainly featured square cushioned stools, but someone had staged two winged-back chairs near the balcony railing. Two empty thrones just waiting for their king and queen.

  Han indicated that I should sit in the chair closest to the railing. I did so as carefully as possible, but I still felt the AC on my hoo-hah when I crossed my legs and tucked them underneath me. Thank goodness it was dark, or I’m sure the other guys would have gotten the full Sharon Stone.

  I glanced around. Where we were sitting afforded us a perfect view of not only the dance floor below but also everybody else in the VIP section, which wrapped around the entire club. This was the perfect place to see and be seen.

  Which made me ask, “So what’s the point of bringing me here? I’m finding it hard to believe that Mr. “You Can’t Sleep Here” wants to be seen out and about with me.”

  But did Han answer me? Of course, he didn’t. He just asked Yaron in English, “Has the champagne been sent?”

  I’d figured out over the last few weeks that the guys –who refer to themselves as STs—mostly speak Cantonese with each other. But there were a couple of STs in their ranks who didn’t understand it, including Yaron and Bui, this one guy from Vietnam.

  But even with them speaking in English, I didn’t understand what was going on. What champagne? And who did they send it to?

  “Look directly to your right,” Han instructed as if I’d asked those questions out loud.

  I did as commanded…and my breath caught.

  K Diamond sat in the same kind of throne chair as us in the VIP section on the other side of the club. He was laughing and joking around with his own crew and what looked to be like several strippers, judging by their dresses which were somehow even skimpier than mine.

  However, all laughter stopped when a waitress appeared with a bucket of champagne. K Diamond shook his head…then turned his head to find us across the way.

  Even from this distance, I could tell he wasn’t happy to see Han and me. He stared at us, his face stony underneath the bright lights.

  I quickly turned away to ask Han, “So you’re still playing the claiming game? Why? I’m old news as far as K Diamond is concerned?”

  Han tilted his head. “I can tell you truly believe that, so I’ll spell it out for you. He wants you. And he’s my enemy now. So it’s important that he understands that not only can he not have you; you belong to me.”

  “You belong to me…”

  The words sent several waves of emotions through me, most of them bad. I didn’t want to be here. And I hated this. I hated him saying such possessive words to me only because he wanted to prove a point to his enemy.

  He rose to his feet and took my hand. “Let’s dance.”

  An order, not an invitation. He pulled me out of my seat without waiting for an answer.

  We went down to the dance floor just as another remix of a SAINt JHN track started playing overhead. Not “Roses” but “Lust,” another super-throbby vibe disguised as a song.

  I was actually a pretty good dancer. A lot of surfing is rhythm once you get up into the advanced levels. Plus, I’ve got a whole lot of nighttime dance-worshipping to the gods around a fire on both sides of my ancestral DNA.

  But as it turned out, none of that mattered. Han turned me around and pulled me to his chest. He slid his hands down to my hips and pressed himself hard and pulsing into my back as we started swaying to a rhythm of his choosing. Did it match the song? I wasn’t sure.

  He slid his hands down even further to caress my inner thighs. And his lips grazed my neck, finding two erotic pressure points I didn’t know I had. The sensations, one soft and seductive, the other firm and possessive, sent unexpected fissures of pleasure through me, making my blood pulse to the beat of the song.

  I no longer cared about pulling at the skirt, about making sure that not too much of me was exposed. The good girl with the sponsorship contracts disappeared, replaced by someone who danced hot and nasty with a known criminal in the club.

  What is he doing to me? And why can’t I stop it?

  HAN

  What is she doing to me? And why can’t I stop it?

  Han had never been this hard in his life. He’d brought her down here to rub his ultimate victory in K Diamond’s face, to give him a preview of what was to come when Han not only wrapped the Golden Circle deal but stole the rest of Kuang Jr.’s clientele as well.

  That was Han’s ultimate plan. To bring his growers enough business that they never had to deal with K Diamond again. To secretly recruit enough of 24K’s unhappy soldiers that when Kuang Jr. figured out what Han was doing, he’d have no one left to fight on his side.

  However, all those plans fell out of Han’s head as he danced with Jasmine.

  Even worse, weird, ugly jealousy rose inside of him when he looked up to find Kuang Jr. standing at the railing, openly watching them with petulant malice shining in his beady little eyes. The girl who’d been snatched away was dancing with another man, and that surely enraged him. Even so, he reached down to adjust himself because he was so turned on by the sight of Jasmine, despite her being in another man’s arms.

  Tonight was about flaunting Han’s victory, and it was working. This was the time to twist the dagger to keep on dancing with her in front of him until he couldn’t take it anymore and left like a child denied the toy he most wanted while his men laughed behind his back—more than they already were.

  But when the song ended, Han was the one who couldn’t take it anymore.

  Jasmine made a surprised little sound when he turned her around and drew her in, so that his rival could no longer see her.

  “Do you like that?” he asked, tipping up her chin. “Making him
crazy with lust? Do you know what he’d give to fuck you right now?”

  He was talking about Kuang Jr., but somehow it didn’t feel like he was talking about Kuang Jr.

  Maybe she was having trouble following his meaning too. She didn’t answer, just stared up at him, her eyes glazed over as if she’d lost track of reality and forgotten where they were. Or maybe that was just Han projecting his feelings onto her.

  It didn’t matter. A new song was playing, but he couldn’t hear it. Her ocean and soap scent filled his nose, making his head pulse at the same beat as his cock. Which he needed to bury inside of her. Right now.

  Unable to let her go, he peeled just enough of himself away to grab the phone from his inside pocket and sent Yaron a text message.

  Yaron met them outside, where the car was parked near the valet stand. His smart driver paid extra for them to keep it close, and less than a minute later, they were speeding down the highway toward the Gold Coast.

  But it still wasn’t fast enough.

  Unable to wait, he dragged Jasmine across the seat and into his lap, uncaring of seatbelt laws or whether Yaron could see them in the rearview.

  His fingers once again found their way to the soft skin of her inner thighs.

  And this time, they explored further, slipping underneath the short hem of her dress.

  She was wet…soaking. So ready for him, his fingers slid right in. She moaned at his touch, her folds squeezing around the digits he’d pushed inside of her, and he cursed himself for not packing a condom in his wallet.

  Did Han think he was hard before? That was nothing compared to the concrete inside his pants now, so hard, the pulsing had become a painful ache.

  He could make out the outline of her breasts in the car’s dim light. A ravenous hunger overtook him, and the next thing he knew, he was sucking them through the dress’s silky material. Giving her nipples the attention they deserved until they turned into hardened peaks. Then tearing the dress at the front out of sheer frustration. He wanted them bare like that night in the champagne room. He wanted to taste them, devour them now like he hadn’t allowed himself to back then.