by Ella Miles
“So Jocelyn, what are you really doing in my bar?”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Your bar, huh?”
“Yes, my bar. Everything I enter becomes mine.”
Jocelyn coughs at my words—choking slightly on the piece of burger stuck in her now dry throat.
She winces as she finally swallows the piece down, but doesn’t immediately grab for her beer to relieve her throat. This girl is used to dealing with pain. It barely fazes her. And apparently speaking words to me is more important than dealing with her discomfort.
“Yours?” She drags her teeth across her bottom lip, and my dick, along with the rest of my body hardens to stone.
“You may own everything you enter, but I control everything I touch.” Her hand moves to my glass sitting on the edge of the bar. Her finger lazily traces around the rim of the thick glass just as I had done before. And then her finger dips into the center, pulling up a drop of whiskey before she brings her finger to her mouth and sucks her finger dry.
I groan.
She purrs in response as if drawing me closer to her. She’s playing with fire.
I grab another fry off her plate and bite off the end with my mouth, needing to regain my composure and at least the illusion of control. This twig of girl can’t control me. She has no power over me. Even my father, the ruthless man he is, can’t tame me.
But somehow, this girl did. If only for a moment, she claimed me as hers and made me want to do whatever I could to please her. But just as quickly the spell she cast over me broke.
She growls and snatches the remainder of her precious fry out of my hand before shoveling it into her mouth, along with the rest of the food on her plate until not even a crumb remains.
My breathing slows. How did I not notice before?
The spaghetti strap shirt she wears lowers, and I see the thin frame of her collarbone protruding more than what is healthy. I glance at her wrist I held only moments before. Now it seems so frail I could snap it with the twist of my hand. And I swear I can see her hip bone sticking out through the thin fabric of her shorts.
She’s too skinny. Too frail. Too hungry.
I’ve known women like her. Some were drug addicts.
But from the lack of needle marks on her skin, I know that is not that case. And even though she’s drunk a lot of beer, I don’t get the feeling that she is an alcoholic. Her body doesn’t tremble at the sight of alcohol.
Others I’ve met were whores.
But from the innocent way she keeps biting her lip, I can’t imagine her selling her body to survive.
And others…others were sold.
“Who did you escape from?” I need to know if she escaped from an enemy or from one of my own. If she escaped from my enemies, then I will have great pleasure in keeping her from them, but if she fled from one of my own…
She cocks her head to the side, studying me, trying to understand the hidden meaning behind my words.
“Answer me.” I grab her wrist again firmly, showing her I won’t let her go without an answer.
Her breathing speeds, and I feel her pulse skipping rapidly through her icy veins. I was right. She was sold. I just need to know who her master was. Then I can decide what to do with her.
I don’t agree with men kidnapping and selling women like cattle. But right now, staring at this endearing creature, I get the appeal.
She closes her eyes, and I imagine she’s picturing her master’s eyes, his commanding voice, even his cock as it drives inside her.
I study her body. She’s thin, but not bruised. She hasn’t been broken yet. He may have not even fucked her yet. She’s just hungry and hasn’t been taken for long, which makes me want to break her myself.
I’m sick.
Jocelyn isn’t mine. And I won’t take her and be her master. I just need to know who I should return her to.
“I belong to myself. I’ve never been sold. And I will never be taken.”
Her eyes puncture mine with sharp ice, and I realize she’s speaking the truth. I’ve always been good at judging people. I know when someone is telling the truth or a lie.
“Then why are you starving?”
She trembles and her eyes are downcast as if that was the question that hurt her. Not the one before, assuming she was a slave.
I feel the tsunami of emotions behind her olive eyelids, before she opens them and erases any remnants of pain.
“I’m not starving. Not anymore. I’m surviving.”
Jocelyn looks to where I’m still gripping her wrist, as if her eyes have any control of my hand. But somehow I can’t resist what her eyes demand. I release her.
She stands. She’s done with our conversation. I’m almost done too, but it doesn’t stop me from getting the last word in. I stand, and our bodies collide in the thin space between our bar stools.
Her movement is fast. So fast I shouldn’t even notice it. No normal person with an ordinary upbringing would notice her action. My buddies sitting in the booth deep in the corner of the bar wouldn’t. And no one sitting the length of the bar would.
But I do.
It’s the oldest trick in the book.
She turns to leave, acting as if nothing just happened between us.
“Jocelyn,” my voice is harsh as I say her name, and as I expected, she halts. A skill I have perfected. I can control people as easily with my voice as I can with my fists.
I slowly walk to her, and I can feel the anxiety dripping off of her in thin droplets. Her body doesn’t show any outward hint of worry, but I can smell the panic as it festers inside her.
I stand in front of her, and she continues to hold her head high. She won’t show weakness. She won’t show fear.
I shouldn’t do this. I should just let her have what she took. I should be kind. It could be the difference between her eating another good meal and withering away into nothing. But I’m not kind; I’m heartless. And I don’t tolerate thievery.
I hold out my hand and look down at her with displeasure. I don’t have to say a word. She knows what she did.
She reaches into her back pocket and places the thick leather wallet into my hand.
I grin. “Good girl.”
Her eyes meet mine, and for a second I think I see something more. Something like winning in her gaze. But she didn’t win, I did.
“Thank you for lunch,” she says. And then she’s gone before I can respond or stop her from running out without paying her bill.
I smirk at my thick wallet and glance at the bar. She didn’t steal from me or the bar by not paying for her food and drinks. She thought she won by stealing three beers, a burger, and fries from me. But I won’t be paying her bill.
I never pay my own. That’s why Zeke and Langston are here. Not that I can’t afford to pay for something so inexpensive. But why should I pay? I own everything in this town. I shouldn’t have to pay myself for something I take.
I walk back to the booth in the corner and take my seat.
“You let some pussy almost steal from you?” Langston says, smirking.
I glare, and the smile leaves his face. He hides behind his drink that Lana, our waiter, must have brought him while I was entertained by the girl.
“No one steals from me.”
They both nod. They know the consequences if someone stole from me.
“She your whore now? Or can I have a taste of her?” Zeke asks.
I lean back in the booth and drape my arm over the back. I don’t want either of them going after Jocelyn. She’s mine, even if I never get to touch her.
“I think you have too much work to do to be chasing pussy,” I say.
Zeke huffs but doesn’t push the subject. Lana drops off the bill that I know covers our drinks in addition to Jocelyn’s tab. Langston places his credit card on the bill without looking. He knows better than to balk at paying. It’s why I pay him so well. Even though my family owns the bar and I don’t have to pay, it’s a way for my friends to show loyalty to me by co
vering our drinks.
“What time are you meeting your father?”
“Three.”
I glance at my watch and freeze.
Instead of the shiny silver face of my Rolex staring back at me, I see the faint tan line of where the watch used to sit.
I smirk.
I may be the devil, but Jocelyn is a thief. She left this bar knowing she had won. She never had any intention to steal my wallet. She wouldn’t have gotten much from my wallet anyway. There is nothing more than a couple hundred dollar bills tucked in its depths along with credit cards I would have been canceled before she could use them and would only leave a trail for me to find her.
Instead, she stole the one thing of real value on my body. The watch is worth over ten grand.
Round one goes to the thief, but the devil only ever gets deceived once. Jocelyn has no idea who she stole from. But soon, I’ll make sure she never forgets.
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Also by Ella Miles
SINFUL TRUTHS:
Sinful Truth #1
Twisted Vow #2
Reckless Fall #3
Tangled Promise #4
Fallen Love #5
Broken Anchor #6
TRUTH OR LIES:
Taken by Lies #1
Betrayed by Truths #2
Trapped by Lies #3
Stolen by Truths #4
Possessed by Lies #5
Consumed by Truths #6
DIRTY SERIES:
Dirty Obsession
Dirty Addiction
Dirty Revenge
Dirty: The Complete Series
ALIGNED SERIES:
Aligned: Volume 1
Aligned: Volume 2
Aligned: Volume 3
Aligned: Volume 4
Aligned: The Complete Series Boxset
UNFORGIVABLE SERIES:
Heart of a Thief
Heart of a Liar
Heart of a Prick
Unforgivable: The Complete Series
MAYBE, DEFINITELY SERIES:
Maybe Yes
Maybe Never
Maybe Always
Maybe: The Complete Series
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Definitely Yes
Definitely No
Definitely Forever
Definitely: The Complete Series
STANDALONES:
Pretend I’m Yours
Finding Perfect
Savage Love
Too Much
Not Sorry
About the Author
Ella Miles writes steamy romance, including everything from dark suspense romance that will leave you on the edge of your seat to contemporary romance that will leave you laughing out loud or crying. Most importantly, she wants you to feel everything her characters feel as you read.
Ella is currently living her own happily ever after near the Rocky Mountains with her high school sweetheart husband. Her heart is also taken by her goofy five year old black lab who is scared of everything, including her own shadow.
Ella is a USA Today Bestselling Author & Top 50 Bestselling Author.
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