You Don't Know Me: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance

by Georgia Le Carre

  ‘They don’t call it The Strip for nothing,’ he murmurs. He is strangely calm.

  He slips his hand into his pocket and comes up with a small velvet box. I stare at it in shock. He opens the box.

  A huge, glittering diamond solitaire stares back at me. I am shaken out of my daze by a commotion at my side. I lift my head and see the award-winning Blue Man Group! Their shiny blue painted heads bob and they widen their eyes and start to turn placards around that read:

  Will

  You

  Marry

  Me,

  Lily

  Hart?

  My mouth drops open. The people around us ‘Oh,’ and ‘Ah.’ What the hell is going on? The whole thing is so unreal I almost can’t believe my eyes. I glance at Jake and he is grinning at me. The men start pantomiming beating hearts in their own inimitable way. They then produce a bottle of Cristal champagne and pop that open. Two flutes appear from somewhere and get filled. One is handed to me. Utterly bemused I take it and turn toward Jake. My mind is a total blank.

  ‘Will you?’ Jake asks softly.

  ‘Was this your high roller request?’ I whisper.

  ‘Part of it. It’s not finished yet.’

  My brain can’t get into gear. The cocktails have made it sluggish. It has all happened so fast. I don’t know what I would have done in different circumstances, but with no time for thought or reflection, this moment seems like the most beautiful thing anyone has ever done for me. It is the most romantic and certainly the most dramatic. And all these people are waiting for me to say yes.

  Caught in the moment my voice is a whisper. ‘Yes. Yes, I will.’

  With a triumphant smile he slips the ring onto my finger. It is a perfect fit and the crowd starts clapping and congratulating us.

  ‘Come,’ he says, and we go out to the pool area. It has been turned into a magical wonderland full of flowers, balloons and lights. There is an altar and a priest is waiting for us.

  ‘What the hell?’ People are clapping, laughing, and cheering us on.

  ‘Feel like becoming my wife tonight?’

  ‘Tonight?’ I squeak. ‘It’s nearly midnight.’

  ‘Why not? This is Las Vegas—the land of dreams and twenty-four hour marriage ceremonies.’

  I suddenly remember Mills and what he would say. Shit. What the fuck am I doing? This is not part of the plan. A feeling of uneasiness slithers down my spine, cold and restless. I want to say, ‘We should wait. This is all too fast,’ but I am unable to. He has gone to so much trouble and everyone is looking at me with a mixture of envy and awe. I look up at him.

  A warm gust of wind ripples through his hair, as if it is teasing fingers. He looks down at me, reckless and intense. I stare at him, mesmerized. He is as gorgeous as a technicolor dream. I am the luckiest girl here.

  I open my mouth and words tumble out. ‘Yes, I’ll marry you.’

  With a smile the priest announces, ‘You may kiss your bride.’

  As if in a dream I watch Jake drift closer, his eyes flashing, triumphant. Daring me? Daring me to what? Then I feel his mouth come down on me and drown out every thought in my head. My legs go weak. I’m married. I’m married to Jake Eden. Without my parents or grandmother. A sharp guilt pierces me.

  What the hell have I done?

  But everybody is shouting. There is glitter and noise. A photographer and videographer appear. Hotel staff are congratulating us. And there is a pink cake to cut. A small piece is put into my mouth. It feels soft, but I don’t taste it. It must have been sweet.

  Then Jake is pulling me by the hand. He pulls me into the elevator. I look up at him, still dazed, unable to believe: I’m married. We just got married. In the confines of the lift I can’t look into his eyes. I look down at my ring. Wow! I’m married. I’m really married. A tendril of happiness touches my heart.

  We start kissing in the lift. He pulls me out and we stumble through the doors, our lips glued. Suddenly he breaks away and, putting his hand under my knees, lifts me up.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Carrying you over the threshold.’

  I laugh. Who would ever have thought I could be so carefree and happy again? He carries me past that dim foyer and puts me down in the living room with its scarlet walls.

  ‘Show me what’s underneath the dress, Mrs. Eden.’

  I am suddenly shy. I bite my lip. He propels me to the middle of the room and drops himself onto the black couch. He leans back, his legs wide open, relaxed, wanting a show.

  I undo the clasp on the high neck and pull down the zip. The dress shimmers all the way down to the floor, leaving me standing in my underwear, suspenders, stockings and high heels. I step away from my dress and slowly sway up to him. Once in front of him I stand with my legs apart. He lets his gaze travel slowly over my body.

  ‘Turn around and show me your bum,’ he says.

  Intoxicated by the hunger in his eyes, I turn around and jut my bottom out provocatively. I look back and see his eyes rush to my crotch where the pale blue string of my thong is caught between my sex lips. Without removing his eyes from me, he takes his jacket off and pulls his shirt out of his trousers.

  I turn back around and, with my hands behind my back, fiddle with my bra strap, while I slide my tongue over my bottom lip. I know that always drives him crazy.

  ‘Go on,’ he mutters, unbuttoning his shirt.

  I take the bra off.

  ‘Jesus, you’re so fucking sexy.’ The pupils of his eyes are dilated and huge.

  ‘What do you want off next?’ I sound all breathy and bimbo-ish.

  ‘That bit of string stuck to your pussy.’

  I laugh giddily.

  His expression doesn’t change. He stares as if bewitched. I used to wonder what it would be like to be with someone who made me feel so desired, so wanted, so special. Now I know. I don’t know what the future holds. But it can never take this moment away from me.

  I take it off and holding it in my hand, scandalize myself by bringing it to my nose and smelling the string.

  He catches his breath and standing up steps out of his trousers and boxers. He runs his hand along the curve of my buttocks. My skin burns faintly at his touch.

  ‘So slender,’ he murmurs, the sound warm and intimate. Then he bends down and swipes his velvety tongue slowly and tantalizingly along the crack. ‘And as sweet as sin,’ he whispers. He moves upwards, flicks his tongue on the rim of my ear, catches the lobe between his teeth, and suddenly nips me. My stomach curls and I moan.

  He catches my waist and spins me around, his gaze adoring. I slide my wrists around his neck and press my body invitingly against his hardness. I am desperate to feel my breasts crushed against the dark hair on his chest and his hot, wet mouth on them. I want his hands to spread my open thighs and gorge himself on the swollen whorls of flesh there.

  But he doesn’t.

  Instead, he pulls me toward the ceiling-to-floor windows. My palms connect with the cold surface and I see the panoramic view of the city glittering with neon lights surrounded by miles of dark desert. I feel him tilt my hips up toward him, and enter me in a fierce thrust. And I see my shining reflection open its mouth in a startled gasp.

  ‘You like it rough?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He thrusts again, harder. ‘Like this?’

  ‘Yes,’ I gasp.

  I feel him pull apart my buttocks and the next thrust is so hard and so deep that my body jerks like a puppet. My eyes swivel upwards, dimly noticing the stars like jewels in the soft blackness of the night sky. A thought hits me: All that I need is to be his. Like this. Forever.

  ‘Nobody has taken you so hard before, have they?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Nobody ever will again, will they?’

  ‘No,’ I moan.

  ‘Because this is all mine. I own all of this now, don’t I?’

  ‘Yes, yes, yes.’

  His finger drums relentlessly at the side of my clit. The s
ensation causes a rush of aching warmth to start flooding my body. He keeps up the thrusts and the drumming until I explode and splinter into a thousand pieces. I am slumped against the glass when I feel him climax. He comes with a fierce bark of humorless laughter.

  I rest against the glass panting, slowly returning.

  ‘Do you know,’ he whispers close to my ear, his voice sensation soaked, lazy. ‘I dreamed about you.’

  ‘Really,’ I murmur. I am pleasantly satiated. I want to keep him inside me forever.

  ‘Don’t you want to know what I dreamed?’

  ‘What did you dream?’ My voice is lazy, playful.

  ‘We went out, we had dinner, we had sex… And then you betrayed me.’

  I freeze, the blood congealing in my veins. He saw me coming!

  In the glass I see his face gleaming dimly, as insubstantial as a ghost. It is a moment so simple, but so heightened because of that very simplicity. Life rarely offers such moments of profound clarity. It is as if I have trained for years for this moment. I see its preciousness glittering like a cornered rat’s eyes. Kill or be killed. Hesitating is to make the second choice.

  I whisk around, eyes wide, clumsy and unsteady in my heels.

  His face is tight as a carved marble bust. The glass behind my back is shockingly cold and the silence between us is leaden. Suddenly I feel the way Eve must have felt, so naked, so exposed, and so fucking guilty.

  He stands a foot away from me, touching distance, and simply looks at me. As if he is looking at a piece of modern art and trying to figure out what the artist intended to say with his senseless splashes of color. I try to imagine what he must be seeing.

  After you cut all the bullshit about making the world a safer place and my gnawing shame that I was not there for Luke when he needed me, what is left? A sad, lonely, despicable bitch, who tried to use her body to get some information and failed miserably.

  I open my mouth and, honestly, I don’t know what I was planning to say, but he lays a silencing finger across my lips.

  ‘Don’t lie, baby,’ he advises softly.

  I shake my head. I can feel the tears gathering at the backs of my eyes. I blink hard and fast. He takes his hand away.

  ‘Did you tell them about the sixteenth?’

  Dismay curves my spine. I close my eyes and nod.

  I hear him sigh softly.

  I open my eyes and he is looking at me with an expression so sad that I want to press my body against his and hold him, but I can’t. I couldn’t bear it if he pushed me away. God! It had seemed so real only a moment ago and yet it was all only a mirage. I feel my body trembling.

  ‘When did you find out?’ My voice is just a string.

  ‘Maybe I always knew. I just didn’t want to believe it.’

  ‘How?’ A part of me wants to know where I went wrong.

  One corner of his lips twists. ‘Everything about you was off. You were too clean to be a runaway. And a runaway who has never let a man come inside her before? And there is one more thing that you might want to reconsider before you go back to being an undercover asset. You talk in your sleep.’

  ‘I do?’ I say hoarsely.

  ‘That time when you were attacked you said, “Get Crystal Jake.” I knew then for sure. No one calls me that anymore.’

  ‘So you admit dealing in drugs?’

  He frowns. ‘How have I just admitted to dealing in drugs?’

  ‘Crystal Jake because you were selling crystal meth.’

  ‘Is that what they told you?’ He grasped his crystal chain and tugged hard at it. It broke, sending sparkling crystals flying across the room, hitting the floor. With his other hand he took my hand, opened my palm, put in what was left in his fist and closed my hand. ‘That is why I was called Crystal Jake. I have never sold hard drugs.’

  My gaze moves from my closed fist up to his eyes. I don’t know whether to believe him, but he has never lied to me, and it is true that the whole time I have been with him I have not seen any evidence of drug usage or dealing either at Eden or on a personal level.

  I stare at him as I have never seen him before. As the man I am in love with. All this while I have been pretending—to him and to myself—that I’m not. But I love him. I love this gangster who seems more honest and sincere than a priest. Other than the bed covered in used money I have no evidence that he is a gangster anyway.

  He walks away from me and begins to dress. I stand at the glass, naked and frozen, all kinds of thoughts churning through my mind. He comes back fully dressed and looks at me. There is contempt in his eyes.

  ‘Why did you marry me if you knew?’

  ‘So that no one will be able to force you to testify against me. If you do, it will be because you want to.’

  My mouth drops open. For some reason his answer is painful on a shocking level. ‘How could you marry me for that reason?’

  ‘How could you show me your naked body and keep your heart covered? Tell them the next time they want another swipe at me it might be an idea not to send such a rookie.’ He looks at me with hard, derisive eyes. ‘Enjoy your wedding night, Mrs. Eden.’

  Oh

  The damage is done

  So I guess I be leavin’

  —Cry me a River, Justin Timberlake

  TWENTY

  For a long time I stand staring at the closed door. A part of me is horrified, but a part of me that I have hidden for so long is strangely elated that the lie is finally out in the open. I don’t have to pretend anymore. Nude, I walk to the fully stocked bar. I open a bottle of whiskey and drink it straight from the bottle. It glugs down my throat, burning all the way down. I cough and pat my chest. The sound is loud in the empty suite.

  Tears press against my eyelids. I feel alone, helpless, and so incredibly lost. I have failed miserably. And I have only myself to blame. I pick up the cheongsam from the floor, and carefully hang it in the closet. It is my wedding dress. I let my fingers skim the silky material one last time. The chambermaid will find it. It will be a nice treat for her. Then I go into the bathroom and, avoiding my reflection, dress in my own clothes.

  Then I sit on the bed and wait for him. I am convinced he will come back through the door. He could not have just walked out on me. But an hour later I know he is not coming back. Reality hits. The truth is like switching on a light. All this time I had thought my eyes were accustomed to the dark. I had made out shapes from the shadows and guessed their names.

  But it was a lie.

  He knew I was an undercover cop the whole time and he was only pretending. Everything we had was a lie. Maybe the lust was real, but what is lust but dust without love? All that time he knew. I think of all the people and the planning that must have gone into hiring The Blue Man Group, the lavish wedding. He had lost all that money on purpose. To keep the invisible balance ledger between him and the casino straight.

  The breath comes out of me in a rush. Now I understand why he asked for this particular suite. The Provocateur suite.

  The message was there for me to see. Only I was too proud of my own ability to deceive and too blinded by my own feelings. I feel tears prickling at the backs of my eyes. No, I won’t give in now. I know what happens when I give in to grief. It takes over. I become a total wreck. No more introspection. I can’t stay here anymore.

  My instructions are very clear in the event that my cover is ever blown.

  I pick up the phone, make flight reservations. Then I pack my bag quickly and with little fuss. There is not much to pack, anyway. I open my purse and take out the black plastic chip. Worthless here, but worth ten thousand dollars at Eden.

  I remember that sweltering night as if it happened yesterday. How exciting it had all been then. How naïve I was to give in to temptation and not think it would scar me for life. I put the chip on the pillow on his side of the bed. I don’t know why I bother after the cavalier way he lost all that money in the casino earlier, but I know I can’t keep it. At the end of the operation you will ditch all
the physical trappings of your undercover alter ego, the hair, the clothes, the people you have befriended, and return to your own normal world.

  Then I go out to the lounge to sit and wait. I know I am a wreck waiting to happen, but at this moment I feel strangely detached and calm. It is simple, I tell myself. My cover is blown. I am not the first undercover cop it has happened to. It has happened many times. I will simply report back and they will assign me somewhere else. Somewhere I can go to lick my wounds. Where there won’t be a Jake Eden I will fall in love with and suffer over.

  I look at the time. I call reception and order a cab. In thirty minutes the cab will arrive and take me to the airport. I will be fine. Of course I will be fine.

  A small voice says, ‘Don’t run away. Stay. Fight for your man.’

  But he is not my man. He is nobody’s man. He was pretending the whole time. I have been silly. I allowed myself to fall in love. It is not so despicable. Other cops have done it. Over the course of years of being undercover some have married their targets and even had children with them. I am not so despicable.

  I stand. I can’t stay in this room any longer. I will wait in reception downstairs. I pick up my luggage, take one last look at the opulence around me, and walk resolutely to the door.

  I open it and stop dead in my tracks. My luggage falls from my disbelieving hands.

  Jake Eden is sitting sprawled out in the corridor. His back is resting against the opposite wall and beside him is an empty bottle of Scotch. He has another in his right hand, which is already half empty. He looks up, trying to hold his lids open.

  ‘Leaving so soon?’ he slurs.

  Last part out sooner than you think…

  CRYSTAL JAKE - BOOK 3

  Published by Georgia Le Carre

  Copyright © 2015 by Georgia Le Carre

  The right of Georgia Le Carre to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the copyright, designs and patent act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.