by Lexi Blake
She wasn’t risking anything else. Let the Shelbys of the world take all the chances. She was done with that.
So why didn’t she go and throw the card away right now?
She laid it on the nightstand beside her bed. She would sleep on it and it would be clearer in the morning. It was easy to blame her odd mood on the free time the day had given her. Usually she was constantly on the move, running from one errand to the next, always trying to please the queen. There was no real time to think about anything but the next task at hand. She woke up before the sun and hit the ground running, and sometime fourteen hours or so later she fell into bed completely exhausted and started the whole thing all over again the next day.
Two years had flown by and the next two would as well. She would be free of Patricia Cain and she would start over again.
What about the next girl? Or what if dear Patricia decided she liked having a slave and found another way to keep her locked in the cage? When had she started to wish her damn life away?
If she was going to get through the night she would need some tea. Chamomile. Something to help her get to sleep. She couldn’t take sleeping pills. They made her too groggy the next day, and she’d had enough wine this afternoon.
She walked down the stairs toward her kitchen, her mind on the afternoon with Bran.
He’d been funny and charming. She’d loved watching him. Gallant. That was a good word for him. He’d pulled out her chair for her and poured the wine himself, but only after allowing her to make all the choices, even for him.
What would the day have been like if he’d merely been a man she’d been matched to on a dating site? Would they have walked through the old part of the city, talking the afternoon and evening away? They could have stopped somewhere and had coffee because they simply didn’t want the date to end. She could have casually invited him back to her place.
How long had it been since she’d been kissed? Since a man had leaned over and pressed his mouth to hers and the world seemed to float away? Long before her marriage had been over. Roger had wooed her with kisses, but he hadn’t had much time for them afterward. Even before, she could now see that every move he’d made had been calculated to manipulate her to the place he wanted her. He’d targeted her for her job. He’d known he could make serious cash off skimming from her boss. He’d gotten too greedy.
The Bran in her fantasy didn’t want her for her job. He wasn’t after revenge. He was after sex. In her head, he’d taken one look at her and decided he would have her. He would pursue her with no thought to anything she could give him beyond pure pleasure.
She’d read far too many romance novels. Sometimes she thought they were the only thing that kept her sane.
She tried to shake off those ridiculous fantasies as she turned on the light in her kitchen.
Then it was hard to think about anything but the scream that threatened to escape.
A man was sitting at her kitchen table, his big body encased in all black. There was even a black hat on his head that was likely pulled down over his face when he wanted to go unseen.
It was probably a bad sign that she could see his whole scarred and hardened face. And the gun he held in one hand. It was silvery and had one of those long noses attached to the muzzle. Silencer. Her heart rate tripled. She could actually hear it pounding in her chest.
“Don’t scream, sweetheart. I don’t want to have to use this on you. And don’t run. I’m not the only one here.”
She gasped as she felt someone move in behind her. Carly jumped in an effort to put some distance between them. This was what a rabbit had to feel like when it got caught between two wolves. Two immense and predatory wolves. She was so scared. What were they here for? She forced herself to speak because if she didn’t she might start crying, and they didn’t get that from her. “What are you doing in my house?”
Her hands were shaking and her voice was barely above a whisper.
The man at her kitchen table sat back as though this was nothing more than a friendly visit. He even holstered the gun. It wasn’t like he needed it. Carly couldn’t do anything. She was utterly helpless. “I’ve come on behalf of a mutual friend.”
Her stomach threatened to revolt. She took a deep breath as she figured out who he was talking about. “That DiLuca guy?”
He smiled, though it wasn’t a pleasant expression. It was more a baring of nasty, sharp teeth. “Yes, Mr. DiLuca sent me.”
“He isn’t my friend.”
His head shook briefly. “Now, Mrs. Fisher, that’s not true. Mr. DiLuca is a gentleman and he would greatly prefer to keep this friendly. You’re the one who won’t take his calls. You’ve been quite rude to him over the phone.”
“I am not Mrs. Fisher.” God she needed to change her last name. There simply never seemed to be time. “I divorced Roger a long time ago. Two years ago to be exact.”
The man shook his head. “I’m afraid Mr. DiLuca is a traditional kind of man. He doesn’t believe in divorce. When God brings a man and woman together, it’s for life. That man and woman share everything, including their debts. Your husband’s been a bad boy. Two years ago he stole some money from my boss and Mr. DiLuca would like it back.”
“He went to prison two years ago.” What the hell was going on? It felt surreal to be standing here and talking to this man.
The man with the gun didn’t seem to find anything out of the ordinary about their conversation. “This was shortly before his unfortunate stay. He racked up quite a gambling debt under an assumed name. It took us a while to figure out exactly who he was. Your husband was a tricky one. The identification he presented was very believable.”
“Tell me about it.” She would hand it to Roger. He tended to be good at conning people out of money. She simply wished he’d been more careful about who he’d stolen from.
“By the time we tracked him down, he was incarcerated, so we’ve come to you, his lovely wife.”
“How much did he owe?” She would write them a check right now if it got them out of her apartment. If it kept her alive. She wanted to argue, but unfortunately she wasn’t the one with the gun. She needed to get them out of here and quickly. Then she could deal with the situation properly—by calling every police officer in the town.
“At the time it was ten thousand,” the man explained. “He liked to bet on the ponies, you see. Unfortunately, he wasn’t good at it.”
She could actually manage ten grand. She might be able to come out of this alive. She prayed they didn’t require cash. That would be way harder. She had a decent savings account. What did she have to spend money on? She had no free time and all her travel expenses were paid for by her job. “Ten thousand dollars.”
“Ten K.”
“I can get my hands on that.” Her voice was still shaky, but she felt a bit more control come back to her. If money was all they wanted, she could work that out. All that mattered was getting them out of her apartment.
He sighed. “Oh, yes, but that was back then. You see, we do charge interest. It’s a business, of course. It’s been two years and three months, so while the principal was ten grand, I’m afraid with interest we’re looking at a million now.”
Her stomach dropped and that burgeoning feeling of control fled in an instant. “I don’t have a million.”
His shoulders moved in a negligent shrug. “I figured you didn’t, but I thought you should understand the stakes. You’re a smart lady and you work for someone who won’t even miss it.”
Oh, she would miss it. “Roger’s in jail because my boss caught him skimming. He underestimated how closely she watches her money. I can’t take anything from her or I’ll end up exactly where he is.”
“Better jail than a grave. Or something worse. Don’t think there’s nothing worse than death, sweetheart. There is and I’ve often been the tour guide. I don’t particularly want that to ha
ppen to you.” The criminal stood up, sliding his chair back in politely. “Look, maybe you can take a loan out or something, but my boss is firm in this. The debt has passed to you since there’s nothing your husband can do for the next ten to fifteen years. It’s a million dollars by the end of the week or something unfortunate will happen to you.”
She would let him leave and then call the cops. This couldn’t happen to her. The cops would handle it. It’s what they did. They protected women like her from criminals.
He moved in, looming over her. When she tried to back up, she brushed against the other man and nearly jumped out of her skin.
“I can’t steal from my boss. I won’t do it and I seriously doubt I can get a million-dollar loan.” Roger’s theft was what had gotten her into this mess in the first place. She wasn’t going to compound the mistake.
“I don’t like hurting pretty women, but I’ll do my job,” he promised. “And my partner back there, he’ll do his, too.”
“Yeah, but I will like it,” the other man said, his eyes steady on her. “I enjoy that part of the job very much, and you are exactly my type. In fact, I could give you some incentive right now.”
She was deeply aware that she wasn’t wearing anything but a thin tank top and a pair of pajama bottoms. She wasn’t even wearing shoes. Once more she was utterly and completely vulnerable, and there was nothing she could do to save herself.
“Back off, Monty.” Asshole number one sent his partner a dark look that made him move back a bit. “Do you understand what you’re up against, Mrs. Fisher?”
She simply nodded because there wasn’t anything else to do.
“I’m glad we understand each other. And don’t call the cops. If you do, you won’t ever see me coming, and I’ll know because Mr. DiLuca keeps a good portion of them on retainer. He’s a careful man. Maybe you’ll get an honest cop who’ll try to help you. Maybe you won’t. I can promise you that all you’ll do is buy yourself a couple of days and a much more painful outcome, because they can’t hide you forever. They’ve got far too much to do, and after a few days of absolutely nothing happening to you and a logical explanation from Mr. DiLuca, they’ll ease off and we’ll be there. Waiting for you. Good night, Mrs. Fisher. You should see about getting a more secure lock.”
He and his friend walked out, not bothering to look back. Why should they? What would she do to them? She was nothing to them.
Carly was left shaking as she heard the door close.
What would she do? She maybe could liquidate everything she owned and come up with a hundred grand. No more than that.
She could call the cops and pray he was lying.
Or she could bargain with a man who might be able to protect her. A man who had promised to work with her. A man who wouldn’t miss a million dollars. She had one thing someone else needed.
With tears in her eyes she locked her door and went to do the only thing she could. She had a call to make.
—
The music blared through the club, but unfortunately nothing could quite drown out the sound of Hatch bitching at him.
“Do you have any idea what your brothers went through? They spent months putting this plan together and you blow it up in five seconds and now she hasn’t called. If she hasn’t called by now she’s not going to, and we have to figure something else out. You and me, Bran. We have to make this right because Drew’s got more on his plate than scrapping an entire multiyear plan for justice and having to start from scratch.” Hatch took a long drink of the Scotch he’d ordered and then his shoulders shook, his face grimacing as he set the drink back down. “That tastes like swill after Taggart’s. I think I’m getting too old for this shit. I never used to care what a damn drink tasted like as long as it worked.”
Because Hatch had spent many years at the bottom of a bottle. Bran knew the story. Hatch had been his father’s best friend, and after what had happened he’d lost his mind and roughly ten years of his life. After Drew had aged out of foster care, he’d gone searching for Hatch, forced the man to sober up, and they’d started the beginnings of 4L. A decade later and Hatch was once again the right-hand man to a Lawless genius. He was dedicated to playing the boozy, obnoxious but loving father Bran never had.
“I’m sure it was horrible for them,” Bran replied as he looked out over the club. This particular club was one of the nicer ones he’d been to. It was still pretty trashy, but strip clubs were a hobby of his. He felt comfortable here. He’d spent the last couple of years in gorgeous mansions and the finest of hotels, but he could breathe here. He didn’t think he stood out like a sore thumb. Like everyone could see straight through him and knew where he’d come from and why he didn’t belong in their high-class worlds.
Of course, he would never admit why he truly liked them. It wasn’t the women, though he definitely felt comfortable with them. It was because he could so often find a reason to fight, and that was what made him happy.
It was perverse that the only time he felt truly at peace was when he was punching some asshole who deserved it. It was the only time the rage that sat in his gut ever lessened. It was always there, boiling under the surface. Sometimes pounding on a deserving victim was the only thing that made him feel in control.
He let himself do it because he often worried if he didn’t find a deserving victim, he might end up pounding on an innocent one.
It was bubbling up tonight, which was precisely why he’d come out here. He’d managed to stay perfectly calm while Drew railed at him. Now he needed a release or he might punch his own brother.
“It wasn’t that bad.” Riley put up his hand, a signal he was ready for his second and final beer of the evening. Bran had no illusions that his older brother was planning on sitting and drinking with him all night. Riley had something to go home to. Someone to go home to. He and his wife, Ellie, were in town to do some business with Drew, but Bran knew the truth. Riley wanted to make sure the next part of their plan got pulled off. Steven Castalano might have gotten what he deserved and Phillip Stratton had died before they could get to him, but neither death had served to clear their father’s name. “And Bran had his own issues. I just wish I’d made it down in time to see the actual act. Did you really Inigo Montoya the Fisher chick?”
Ah, Inigo Montoya. He was the iconic character from the The Princess Bride, the one looking for the six-fingered man who’d killed his father. He’d dedicated his life to revenge and found peace once it was over.
Would Bran find any peace? He rather thought not since his sins might be as bad as those he sought revenge against.
Coward. Useless pathetic coward.
In his dreams, that was what she called him as he huddled behind the bed while she died.
“From what he told me, he walked right up to her and called Pat a murderer within the first minute of opening his damn mouth,” Hatch complained. “I’m not kidding you, Ri. I thought Drew was going to have a heart attack when he realized Bran had gone rogue. I’ve never seen that boy turn that particular shade of red before. It was right on the edge of purple.”
Riley took the beer from the blond waitress’s hand and tipped her, but Bran noticed his eyes didn’t move over the woman the way they used to. Riley had been the player of the group. There hadn’t been a woman around who was safe from his charm before he’d met Ellie Stratton. “I’ve seen it happen. Do you remember the time I missed buying that stock he wanted because I was fooling around with his secretary? Yeah, he looked like an eggplant then.”
At least he wasn’t the only one who disappointed Drew. “It’ll work out better this way.”
The waitress leaned over, showing an enormous amount of cleavage. Her breasts were nice and round and looked to be soft. He liked soft, but somehow he couldn’t get buttoned-up and a little prudey Carly Fisher out of his head. “Is there anything I can get for you, hon?”
He smiled back and fi
shed a twenty out of his pocket. “How about a bottle of water? Keep the change.”
It was a massive tip in a place like this, but then, he could see the fine lines on her belly from stretch marks. They didn’t mar her loveliness, but they were likely why she was serving drinks instead of dancing. She wore a charm bracelet on her left wrist with small dangling soccer balls and ballet shoes. Her smiles were for cash, not because she was looking to find a date for the night. She had children to feed and probably no one to help her with it.
When she smiled his way this time, it seemed genuine. “Absolutely. I’ll be right back.”
Hatch’s eyes rolled. “You tipped her like two hundred percent.”
Riley shook his head. “Don’t even bother. Overtipping strippers and down-on-their-luck servers is his reason for living. I’m glad he’s slowing down tonight. He’s usually halfway through a bottle of tequila.”
It was something that made him feel better—the overtipping, not the tequila. The tequila simply dulled the pain for a while. The tipping made him feel better about life. He was pretty sure most women wouldn’t work at a place like this unless they had no other way to get by.
Carly was in the same position, though she got to keep her clothes on. She was being forced to work for a woman who liked to humiliate her employees, from what he understood. He hated the thought of sweet Carly, who had made sure to praise their waitress and asked her to thank the chef for the meal, being in a position where she never got praise of her own. It was important to feel worthy, to know that you could do good. Tipping was a form of praise.
His brother leaned in, completely ignoring the show that was going on around them. “Are you sure this is going to work? Because I’m not certain what Drew will do if it doesn’t.”
“You think he’ll finally lose it and kick me out?” He was well aware that he was the difficult brother. He was the one who’d barely made it through school. They’d pushed him and carried him through to get his MBA, and then shoved him in marketing, where he couldn’t do too much damage. He was the one who got arrested from time to time when he didn’t get away from a fight fast enough.
