His biceps ripple as he throws me over his shoulder. I hang upside down, my face level with the back pockets of his worn blue jeans. His ass is round and taut. The hardness of his shoulder bites into my stomach with each stride. I wriggle to ease the discomfort and am rewarded with a stinging slap on the bottom.
“Settle down,” he growls.
When we reach Cash, he dumps me onto my feet. The trunk of the Oldsmobile is closed and eerily quiet. My fear escalates to sheer terror. Cash’s brown eyes rove over my face. Using the pad of his thumb, he wipes a smudge of mud from my chin in a tender caress. “Tell me one good reason why I shouldn’t throw you in the trunk with your buddy here.”
“I’m no good to you dead.” I blurt the answer and continue to plead for my life in a torrent of words. “If you kill me, you’ll never make your money back. I can make more copies for you. I can work the debt off.”
He snorts. “What kind of message will it send my business partners if I let you go?”
My brain races through possible bargaining chips. If he wanted me dead, he would already have done it by now. Every second I can keep him talking is a second longer to make my case.
“If I disappear, people will ask questions. Mr. Mercer depends on me to run the store, and I told Em that I’d be back before bedtime. Her boyfriend is a cop. She’ll know something’s wrong and call him if I don’t come home. They won’t give up until they know what happened to me.” For good measure, I throw in a wild card. “Calliope will look for me, too.”
I’m not sure why, but my final statement causes a hitch in his breath. Storm clouds darken his brow. His gaze flits to the goons. Through some kind of telepathic signal, they nod, get in their car, and speed away, leaving a cloud of blue exhaust in their wake. Cash stands frozen, staring at me, hands in his pockets. The scent of his cologne catches on the spring breeze and wraps around me. His jaw flexes, an outward indication of his inner conflict. My focus locks onto the black ink on his neck. Sexy. Hot.
“All right.” A long exhale follows. “Take her home.”
“You sure about that?” Gage leans toward his boss, a furrow between his thick eyebrows. “Aren’t you worried she’ll talk?”
“Nah.” Cash chucks me beneath the chin. The casual graze of his fingers on my skin sets my heart aflutter in a combination of fear and desire. “She’s too smart for that. Aren’t you, darlin’?” With an easy shrug, he pivots and walks back to the Range Rover. At the door, he pauses. “I’ll be in touch.”
Gage drops me at the driveway of my house, cuts the cable ties then disappears into the night. Emeline is sitting in the living room, pretending to watch TV, but I can tell she’s been worrying. She runs to meet me. Her gaze takes in my disheveled hair, the rip in my jeans, the drops of blood on my tennis shoes from the cut on my leg. “What happened to you? Are you okay?”
“I tripped over something. It’s nothing.” I force an easy smile. “You know how clumsy I am.”
She nudges me to the sofa. “Sit. I’ll get you a glass of water.”
“No.” I gesture toward the cabinet next to the refrigerator where I keep the whiskey. A night like this calls for something stronger. “Bring the bottle.”
She pours an inch of liquor into two glasses and presses one of the tumblers into my palm. I drain it then hold out the glass for a refill. My mind struggles to reconcile everything that happened. The clock over the TV says it’s nine o’clock. Have I really only been gone for three hours? It feels like a lifetime.
My phone dings with an incoming text from Cash. “Got a job for you. Going to the club Friday night. Pick you up at seven. Wear something sexy.”
My stomach flutters. I quickly delete the text and toss my phone on the sofa. Emeline frowns. “That was him, wasn’t it?” I struggle and avoid her gaze, knowing she’ll be able to see through my expression. She sighs. “Want to tell me what happened tonight?”
“Not really.”
“Did you give him the necklace?”
“I did.”
“So you’re done with him, right?”
“Not exactly.” I take a second gulp of liquor and wait for the mind-numbing relief that never arrives. The night has left me full of uncertainty, but there’s one thing I know for sure. Cash Delacorte is in my life, and he’s not leaving anytime soon.
Six
Jagger
With a nervous smile, I meet Emeline’s gaze in the mirror. While she was out with Tony, I’ve been getting ready for whatever Cash has in store for me tonight. “Does this look okay?” I’m wearing a short blue dress, one that clings to my curves. A good coat of polish hides most of the scuffs on my expensive but worn high heels. Although it’s crazy, I want to look good for Cash. I place a hand on my stomach to calm the butterflies inside.
“You look great.” She frowns at my reflection. “Where are you going?”
“To the club. With Cash.” I hold my breath, waiting for the argument about to unfold.
“After what happened last week? Are you insane?” The high pitch of her voice echoes off the ceiling.
“Probably.” Her screeching does nothing to calm my nerves.
“I’d be a shitty friend if I didn’t say that going anywhere with this guy is a big mistake.”
“Objection noted.” Ignoring her accusatory stare, I grab my clutch purse and smooth my hair. On most days, I wear it in a ponytail or bun. Tonight, I’m wearing it in loose waves down my back.
“He’s a psychopath.” Her mouth forms an O.
“Believe me. If I had a choice, I wouldn’t go.” For the last twenty-four hours, I’ve wracked my brain for an exit strategy and come up with nothing. Cash is smart and scary and too powerful to avoid. Meanwhile, I’m the idiot who blew all his money on designer dresses and bad investments.
Her footsteps shadow mine into the hallway, persistent to the end. “You moved here to get away from guys like him.”
“This is different.” Since I don’t know how to explain, I don’t even try. She knows about the problems I had with Kyle. At his memory, I touch the scar above my left eyebrow, the one he gave me after an argument over something insignificant. Cash has one there, too. It’s something we have in common, and I have to wonder who marked him.
“How? How is it different?” With both hands on her hips, she blocks the front door. “He’s another bad boy from the wrong side of the tracks.”
“Maybe.” I can’t argue with her logic.
“He’s here.” She draws aside the curtains of the living room window. “And he’s coming to the door. At least he’s a gentleman.”
“Great. Wish me luck.” Nervous butterflies flit in my stomach. I didn’t expect him to come to the door.
“Why do you need luck?” Lines of concern furrow her forehead. “Say the word, and I’ll go out there and tell him you’re sick or something.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” But I am sick—sick with worry, sick with nerves, sick with anticipation. I have no idea what he has in store for me tonight, but I’m pretty sure it’s going to end with sex. Not because he likes me, but because he owns me, and I owe him. My panties dampen at the thought of his heavy body on top of me. I fan my face with my hands to keep the ensuing heat flash from ruining my makeup.
The doorbell rings. Our eyes meet. She blocks the door—gives me a final, pleading look. My insides twist into knots. Oh God. I’m not ready for this. Not by a long shot. When I raise my eyebrows, she steps aside. I open the door slowly. Cash stands on the front steps. My heart skips a beat. His dark eyes sweep over me, from head to toe and back up again. I sweep a hand to the side, inviting him into the foyer.
“You look great, little girl. I could eat you up.” His praise sends a flush of heat into my cheeks. Wait. No. This isn’t a date. He’s a dick and a criminal. Inwardly, I roll my eyes at my behavior. Later, I’ll have to dissect all the ways my attraction to him is inappropriate and unhealthy. For the moment, I need to survive.
“Thanks. You look nice, too.” I’m
not sure what kind of game he’s playing, but I can be civil. And it isn’t a lie. Beneath his black leather jacket, he’s wearing a black dress shirt—the expensive kind—and charcoal dress pants. He’s the kind of guy to make me look twice then look again for good measure.
He extends one of two roses to me. “For you.”
“Thanks.” I lift the crimson petals to my nose and inhale the sweet scent while trying to corral my thoughts. Does he think this is a date? Did I miss something? I’m so confused. A thorn pricks my finger. I hiss at the sting. The pain reminds me to separate Cash’s pretty words from his deceptive actions.
“And one for your friend.” He hands the second rose to Emeline. She gapes at him before gingerly taking it.
“Thanks.” Her gaze slides over to me. Her forehead puckers in confusion. “What club are you guys going to?”
I glance back to Cash, who’s chill and casual, his tall body overpowering the small entryway of my house. He shrugs. “It’s private. Very exclusive. Don’t wait up.” Taking my elbow, he guides me toward the door. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of her.”
Em stands next to the door, arms crossed over her chest. “I’ll have my phone at my side. If you need me, call me, Jag.” With narrowed eyes, she watches as Cash places a hand on the small of my back and ushers me outside.
A blast of cold air races across my bare legs. I shiver. He gives me an intense sideways glance. “Where’s your coat, baby girl?”
“I—I don’t have one that matches.” My teeth chatter, making my words stilted. I have a puffy coat for winter and a windbreaker for spring. Until now, I never needed more. “I’ll be fine.”
Wordlessly, he shrugs out of his jacket and drapes it around my shoulders. The lining is still warm with his body heat and smells like him—clean, sharp, and musky. He opens the door behind the driver of the Escalade. Three men are inside. Two goons in front. Gage in the back. The hoods of their sweatshirts are pulled over their heads. None of them look at me. I balk. Three men? Cash gives me a little shove. “Get in.”
I go because I have no choice and because I’m curious to see where the night takes us. He slides into the back seat next to me and shuts the door. He pats the driver’s headrest, signaling for us to leave. Gage hugs his side of the car, staring out the window into the darkness. Cash spreads his knees wide. The hard length of his thigh presses against mine. I can feel his muscles through the fabric of his trousers. Every time he shifts, an electric thrill races up my leg.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
Cash turns his attention to the window. “You’ll know when we get there.” The smooth yet scratchy texture of his voice makes my blood sing with desire and fear.
I focus on the road, searching for clues about our destination. It’s the not knowing that bothers me. I have no idea what he has in store for me tonight. A little time to prepare would have been nice. Tension thickens the air. No one speaks. The silence roars in my ears. To release some of my anxiety, I bob my leg. Cash places a hand on my knee, squeezes until I stop, and leaves it there. My body sizzles beneath his command. His touch travels all the way to my center. I squeeze my legs together to ease the throbbing inside my panties. I want his hands on me, inside me, teasing, tickling, and groping.
After an endless forty-five minutes, the Escalade turns through a wrought iron gate and onto a private drive. In the darkness, I can make out a manicured landscape with decorative ponds and trees. Rows of expensive cars line the pavement. We roll to a stop in front of a castle-like mansion. The sign above the door says we’re at Hellwater Hills Country Club. I’ve heard of this place. It’s the most exclusive country club in the state, the playground of congressmen, professional sports players, and various other rich people.
“When you said we were going to a club, I thought you meant a bar,” I say.
“This is a club,” Cash replies. The men laugh. My face heats with embarrassment. I hate being laughed at almost as much as I hate being blackmailed.
“You should’ve told me,” I snap. “I would’ve worn something more appropriate.” My short dress seems a little too daring for a conservative place like this.
“That dress looks good on you.” A smirk curls the corners of his mouth. “Can’t help thinking you’d look a whole lot better out of it, though.”
Outwardly, I ignore his flirtatious compliment. Mostly because I have no idea whether he’s serious or teasing. That’s the thing about Cash. He’s unreadable. Inside, my temperature rises a few degrees because I want his words to be true. I shift my attention back to the elegant manor. “They’re going to know I don’t belong here.” With a worried scowl, I tug the hem of the dress, trying to make it longer.
“Stop. You’ve got gorgeous legs. You’ll be fine.” He dismisses my worries with a wave of his hand. “Here’s what’s about to go down. Are you listening, Jagger? I’m only gonna say this once.” His fingers tighten on my knee, forcing my attention to that part of my anatomy again.
“Yes.” A strange flutter awakens in my lower belly. I bet those fingers know their way around a woman’s body.
“All right. You’re going to go inside and find a man named Hubert Spillman. Short dude, bald head, glasses. Got a purple birthmark on his forehead. You’ll know him when you see him.” He speaks casually, like we’re discussing the weather over coffee. “Give him this.” From the depths of his shirt pocket, he withdraws a flash drive and tucks it into my cleavage. Gooseflesh pebbles along my skin at the brush of his fingertips over my breast. My nipples jut against the filmy fabric, begging for his attention. “He’s going to give you an envelope. You bring it back to me.” He snaps his fingers. “In. Out. Back in ten minutes.”
“That’s it?” I ask, confused by the simplicity of the task. “If it’s so easy, why don’t you do it?”
“Let’s just say the people inside aren’t a fan of my kind.” His gaze roves over my body, lingering on my curves. “But you—you’ve got that sweet, good girl look.” He extends an open palm. “Give me your phone.”
“Why?” Every fiber of my being wants to rebel against his authority. Resentment for his control over my life leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
“Damn, why you gotta question everything, girl? Just give it to me.”
At his growing impatience, I unsnap the clutch, dig out my phone and slap it into his palm. I bite my lower lip knowing this is all the explanation I’m going to get. He opens the car door, exits, and extends a hand to help me out. I stand next to the vehicle on wobbly legs—partly from nerves and partly from his nearness. He drags his jacket from my shoulders and tosses it inside the Escalade. With a nod toward the entrance, he says, “Go on now.”
Seven
Jagger
My high heels click on the slate tiles of the entryway. The sound echoes up to the coffered ceilings. An enormous crystal chandelier casts prisms of light on the burled walnut paneling. It takes all of my composure to keep from gawking at the ornate furnishings, the original oil paintings, and the heavy velvet drapes. Everything is so elegant. I feel like a Shetland pony in a stable meant for Thoroughbreds.
“Miss? May I help you?” a male voice calls to me as I head toward the largest set of double doors.
After a deep, calming breath, I turn to face him, wearing my most pleasant expression. The badge fastened to the lapel of his suit marks him as the club manager. “Um, no. Thank you. I know where I’m going.” I gesture toward the double doors where the faint hum of voices and laughter emanates.
“May I see your membership card?” The man extends a hand, waiting expectantly. “Or your invitation?”
“Oh, I’m not a member. I’m here to meet—” My mind goes blank. Crap! What was the man’s name? Speakman? Spellman? “I’m here to meet Mr. Spillman.”
“Senior or Junior?”
There’s more than one? I squelch the urge to cuss. Here goes nothing. “Senior.”
“Wait here, please.” The young man pivots on his heel and strides down
a darkened corridor.
The minute he’s out of earshot, I sprint toward the ballroom. Two women walk out of the powder room, and I almost bump shoulders with one of them. Both are tall and slender in floor-length gowns, their hair swept into sleek chignons. One of them stops in front of me. I don’t know why the hell I get myself into these situations. A spike of adrenaline turns my fear into an intoxicating buzz. I’m actually enjoying this.
“That’s a pretty dress.” The blonde’s unnaturally plump lips stretch into a smile, but her forehead remains smooth and unwrinkled. “Valentino?”
“Thank you and yes.” I trace a fingertip along the feather-and-sequin trim on the shoulders. The four-figure price tag had been hard to swallow, but it fits perfectly. It’s the most expensive dress I ever bought. Back then, I had money to burn. Cash’s money, I remind myself.
“Last season, though, right?” The smile on her ruby red lips is perfect yet poisonous.
“Like your earrings?” I ask, mimicking her smirk. The small, diamond and pearl bobs were showcased at a few trade shows the previous year. Things like that don’t matter to me, but the flare of her nostrils suggests I’ve landed a successful blow to her ego.
“My husband gave them to me as a gift.” A blush of mortification brightens her cheeks.
“Have we met?” The second woman peers at me a little too closely. Her attention lingers on my diamond earrings and glittering tennis bracelet. The pieces I borrowed from the store for tonight. “Are you Ambrose Taylor’s niece?”
“Yes. Yes, I am.” Thank goodness, I’ve always been able to think on my feet. My core temperature rises to inferno level. How long before one of these women realizes that I’m an imposter and has me tossed out the door? The best option is to get the hell out of here. “I’m so sorry. I’m really late. But I’ll find you later, and we can have a chat.” I flash a blinding smile then dash in the opposite direction before she can ask more questions.
Absolute Power (Absolute Power Duet Book 1) Page 5
