I pushed that thought back and focused on the man holding me to him.
“Speaking of groveling. I believe you need to do some.”
“I just spent the last month cleaning up a territory war. I promise I haven’t engaged in any activity that requires me to grovel.”
“You did leave me without a word.” I shifted my body so I could straddle him, settling one knee on each side of his thighs and my arms around his neck.
Sebastian gripped my waist. “I’d argue that you were asleep and weren’t available for consultation.”
“Those technicalities aren’t important.”
“How would you like me to grovel? You name it, I’ll do it.”
I thought about it for a second and then said, “I’d like another night at the club in Ida.”
Heat entered Sebastian’s eyes, sending a tingle deep in my core.
“How about the one you visited in Berlin? I know the owner.”
I licked my lips and leaned forward to graze my mouth against his. “Let’s play here today and then visit the one in Berlin tomorrow.”
“Anything you want, Prinzessin. Your wish is my command.”
THE END
About Sienna Snow
Inspired by her years working in corporate America, Sienna loves to serve up stories woven around confident and successful women who know what they want and how to get it, both in – and out – of the bedroom.
Her heroines are fresh, well-educated, and often find love and romance through atypical circumstances. Sienna treats her readers to enticing slices of hot romance infused with empowerment and indulgent satisfaction.
Sienna loves the life of travel and adventure. She plans to visit even the farthest corners of the world and delight in experiencing the variety of cultures along the way. When she isn’t writing or traveling, Sienna is working on her “happily ever after” with her husband and children.
Learn more about Sienna at www.siennasnow.com
PRECIOUS GEMS
A Novel by Sierra Hill
PRECOIUS GEMS
by Sierra Hill
He is my darkness. An obsidian knight – powerful, protective and strong.
He brought me comfort in a time of pain. Peace in a time of loss. Sustenance when I was hungry. His strength shielded me from the harsh, piercing lights of the world.
Like precious gems carved in the dark recesses of the earth, shaped by the great pressure and intense heat of the earth, I too was shaped by him.
Just as minerals are forced together through a tumultuous process to metamorphose and change into something different, I was changed into something beautiful.
Something fragile yet strong.
Something crystallized and made to withstand all other external forces that push against it.
His dark shaped me. Made me new.
He is my dark.
And I am his precious gem.
Prologue
Before
The smack across my face is sudden and jarring.
My head snaps up, jaw widening to allow the escape of a soft gasp, my open palm covering my cheek where the skin burns hot from his hand.
“Don’t you fuck this up for me, Gemma. Do you hear me?”
I stare blankly into his eyes, the eyes of a man who I both love and detest, his bloodshot orbs glaring me down with undeniable hatred and disgust.
“Just do exactly what I’ve told you and do not deviate from the plan. Text me only when you land and once you have the money.”
His cold eyes sweep over my body, his lips quivering with hostility, his breath reeking of alcohol and cigarettes.
My father hates me for reasons I may never fully understand. And yet, I continue to try, time and time again, to gain his love and approval.
“And keep that fucking mouth and whoring legs of yours shut. You know what will happen if I find out you’ve done something stupid, don’t you?”
It’s not a question. Whether I’m too quiet, or too loud, or I sneeze, or am two minutes late – there are always consequences. And his words hurt me more and cause more damage than any slap or punch could ever do.
I simply nod my head and stare up into the eyes of the only parent I have ever known as he lifts the heavy backpack and straps it over my shoulder to carry. I accept it with shaking hands, like the gauntlet given to a warrior who heads off to war.
I’m the chosen warrior this time but still the lowly servant to his majesty.
It isn’t that he trusts me anymore than he did yesterday, or that he believes I’m ready to step up into a new role in this family. No, the only reason I’ve been tasked with this assignment now is that there’s no one else around he can trust. Although I wonder if he ever really trusts anyone at all.
Regardless of his intentions, I’m the only one in the family available for this job. The only one in his crew able to leave the country with a passport that won’t flag the police or the Feds.
He chose me to go because my name won’t appear on any watch list or database because I’ve never been in trouble with the law. I’ve kept my nose clean and kept off the radar of the authorities.
I may be the daughter of Mudd Phillips, a known criminal and thief, but this is the first time he’s ever involved me in the family business.
And hopefully the only time.
Because after this, I’m gone.
I have plans for the rest of my life.
And they don’t involve being a career criminal in my father’s connected world.
1
The woman in the line in front of me lets out a loud grumbling breath, heaving an exaggerated sigh before twisting around to speak to me. She passes a look that indicates we’re in cahoots. Which we are not.
“God, does everyone in Europe have to move this slow?”
I keep my head down, eyes averted and stare at the passport in my hand before raising my chin to respond to her question.
“I’m not sure. This is my first time here.” I shrug with a shy lift of my shoulder and hope she leaves it at that.
I was given explicit instructions not to talk with anyone. Mudd made that very clear. He wanted me to keep a low profile, to get in and get out, and not raise awareness as to why a girl from Jersey is in Belgium.
But no such luck. The woman pushes her elegantly styled blonde hair out of her face, producing a knowing smile before dropping a well-manicured hand down on my arm. Her gold dangly bracelets jingle loudly, and I flinch at her touch.
I’m not used to the soft and sensitive touch of a woman because I’ve never had it. I never knew my mother. I have no frame of reference for what the gentle compassion of a fellow woman feels like.
While the foreign feeling catches me off-guard, it is neither wanted nor appreciated.
“Oh, darling. You are going to love Antwerp,” she exclaims, a dreamy look sketching across her face. Her eyes dance across my face and body, and she hums. “And with your youth and beauty, you’re sure to have swarms of young men flocking around you. Are you staying here in Belgium? Or will you be traveling around Europe?”
An automatic yes is about to leave my lips when I stop myself, remembering my dad’s emphatic command. Keep your fucking mouth shut.
I mumble a noncommittal response. “Mmm-hmm.”
“Are you here to study abroad? Oh my God, you’ll have so much fun! I did that when I was in college, too. Had the time of my life.” She wiggles her full eyebrows at me, tilting sideways at her hips to whisper, as if I’m in on her secret. “I still have fond memories of Marcello from a weekend in Portugal when I was twenty-something.”
The woman runs a finger across her pouty bottom lip, her thoughts taking her far away from the custom’s line. I look her over surreptitiously, noting the fine lines around her eyes and mouth, conspicuously hidden by Botox and brightener.
If I had to guess, I’d say she was in her late 30’s, maybe early 40’s. Her outfit is fancy, bling and baubles, expensive handbag and shoes. Definitely a socialite or
a woman of wealth and money.
She flutters a hand over her face, as if she’s overheating from the memories, and then darts a hand out in front of her looking for me to accept it.
“My name’s Dorian, by the way. And yours, darling?”
Oh shit. Do I give her my real name? I hadn’t considered the possibility that I’d have to engage in conversation with anyone aside from the taxi driver who would take me to my destination. In fact, I was sure everyone would be speaking a different language, leaving it impossible to converse.
No such luck.
In the second or two that it takes for me to decide on what information I should share with her, her interest diverts to the sound of incoming messages on her phone she clasps in her hand. She holds it up to read, tapping out a response, as we slowly inch forward another few steps in line.
My mind wanders, and I wonder if she’s here for business or pleasure. Maybe she’s here for a week-long conference. Or maybe she’s meeting a man she’s having a torrid love affair with, and they are running away together.
I may have lived a sheltered life thus far, never leaving my home of Jersey, except for some trips here and there to New York City, but my imagination can run wild, dreaming up very vivid and crazy notions.
Wondering what I would do if I was free to travel the world to learn about new cultures and people and to move away from the noise and havoc of Jersey. Out from under my father’s cruel thumb and my brother’s brutal torment.
The backpack suddenly feels like it weighs a thousand pounds, the contents inside worth more to me than just a profit. It holds the key to my future. And the irony is not lost on me that in order to buy my freedom and cut the ties that bind me to my dad and brother, leaving behind a life of crime, I have to sell a stolen diamond. A crime, in and of itself.
I never wanted to be in this business with my dad and brother. And for a long time, Mudd kept me out of it. But there came when I grew old enough that Mudd figured out that a pretty teenage girl would be useful in their trade. So, he trained me and put me to work.
And not in the same way he focused his energies on my older brother, Johno. A man who at the age of twenty-four, is considered the prince of the family. The next in line to the Phillips empire.
But with Johno now incarcerated in a federal penitentiary in upstate New York, and Mudd in fairly poor health and under house arrest, I was promoted from lackey to mule. Lucky me.
The timing of this deal and the factors leaving me the only one who could handle it for Mudd, gave me the leverage I needed to cut my own deal. I made my father promise me that once I returned, I'd be able to leave and walk away from the conning and thieving, the petty crimes I'd been tasked with for years - and he wouldn't stop me.
To get the hell away from this family and lead my own life.
At twenty, there’s so much I want to do. Maybe go to art school to become an artist. Or move to L.A. to act or Bora Bora and make handmade bracelets for beach vacationers. I don’t care where I go or what I do, as long as I can create something. But it won’t happen without my father’s consent.
But how much can you ever really trust the word of a con man?
The only purpose I have ever served in my father’s life was to use my innocence, model looks and my skills in pickpocketing to find an easy mark, create a distraction and take them for all I could. I worked those cons in hopes that one day, he would approve of me. That one day he would finally say, “Gemma, I love you. You’re such a good girl and I’m so glad you’re my daughter.”
But that’s just me romanticizing and dreaming of a fairytale family-life that doesn’t exist.
I was raised by a heartless man whose only goal in life is the next con. The next game. He used people and used me for profit.
Love was never something he taught me, demonstrated or bestowed upon me. All the attention he directed toward me was borne of hostility and some deep-rooted hatred, probably manifesting from my mother’s betrayal. Maybe, had she not left us when I was a baby, things would’ve been different. Maybe he loved my mother, and she took all that love with her when she left.
But I’ll never know, and it’s too late to try and forge a relationship with him. I’ve tried and only been beaten for it in the past.
The line inches forward, as Dorian receives a phone call. “What?” she answers rudely, a severe contradiction from her sweet tone with me.
Trying to offer her some privacy, I pull out my phone from my purse and text my dad.
Landed safely. Going through customs.
The three dots appear.
Don’t fuck up.
I laugh, because honestly, what did I expect?
As we move closer and closer to the customs agent, my nerves begin to knot and fray inside my belly, and I’m suddenly fearful about entering Belgium. Beads of sweat have congregated on my palms, and I wipe the moisture on my pants, swallowing down the dusty lump in my throat, trying desperately to regulate my breathing.
What if the customs agents badger me about my visit? What if they want to check my bag? What if I prove my father right and wind up fucking this all up because my fear wins and I’m an unconvincing liar?
This is exactly what Mudd was worried about when he walked me through this assignment.
“If they ask you, just tell them you’re here to see your grandmother and cousins in Antwerp,” he said during the lengthy list of instructions he threw at me the day before I left. “And if they check the bag and ask about the stone, just say it’s a family heirloom you’re returning to your grandmother.”
What seemed plausible at the time now seems like too big of a lie. One that I fear I’ll trip over if I’m asked to provide any sort of substantial detail. While I can steal and lie for a con on the streets, I might very well crumble under the direct scrutiny of the uniformed agents, whose sole purpose is to flush out criminals and drug dealers coming into their country.
An idea comes to mind as Dorian ends her call and shakes her head, throwing her phone back into her big leather satchel, hanging on an elbow.
“Excuse me, Dorian. But do you happen to know where I can catch a city bus from here?”
I ask this in the sweetest, Bambi-eyed tone I can muster, trying to appear bewildered and inept, hoping she’ll take the bait.
And she does.
She waves a hand in the air to indicate it’s the dumbest thing she’s heard today. “Oh honey, a young girl like you shouldn’t be taking a bus alone. I have a driver waiting at baggage claim, and I can drop you off anywhere in the city you need to go.”
Perfect.
Now to turn it on full volume.
“Oh, I’m not sure about that. I mean, I don’t know you. You could be one of those sex trafficking madams, luring young women into your business.”
She looks genuinely shocked, her eyes widening and hand clutching at her throat. “Oh, dear heavens. That’s… that’s horrible that we live in a world where strangers can’t be kind and helpful. But I promise you, I’m only looking out for you.”
And now for the grand finale.
Cause a diversion. A distraction to draw attention away from the con.
My performance is played out flawlessly, as I begin to tear up, the moisture flooding my eyes and down my cheeks as I reach around Dorian to embrace her in a hug.
As I do, I swiftly drop the stone into the side pocket of her satchel, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.
“Oh Dorian, I can’t believe how wonderful you are. Thank you. I was so scared about being alone and finding my way around the city.”
She coos like I’m a cute, helpless baby instead of the twenty-year-old thief that I am.
“Sweetie, it’s my pleasure. And girls like you - beautiful and young - you should never be required to take public transportation if it can be helped.”
A girl like me?
I’m a Jersey girl who has only ever taken public transportation and could hold her own against the fiercest of thugs.
&nbs
p; But she doesn’t know the real me. And that’s what the con is all about.
2
My con works like a charm.
Dorian carries the contraband jewel, unbeknownst to her, successfully through customs and waits for me at the baggage claim while I do my best not to stumble over my responses to the questions I’m being asked.
Although the agent’s accent throws me for a loop, thankfully the questions he poses were all generic and fairly innocuous, all of which I can respond to honestly. I move through unscathed, if not a little frazzled.
My only problem now is confiscating the jewel back from Dorian’s bag and avoiding further interrogation about my purpose here.
Since she seems to think I’m here to study abroad, I decide it’s easier to deceive if she already has that objective in her mind. The best deception is using the using a version of the truth and manipulating it into reality.
The task could not be easier as the perfect opportunity presents itself. As we stand at the rotating carousel, Dorian bends over to grab one of her four pieces of Louis Viton luggage, struggling with the weight. She turns to me for assistance.
“Here, darling. Could you hold this for a moment while I grab my bags?”
She hoists the bag into my chest, leaving me to cradle it in my arms like a baby. She then spins around in a flourish and practically topples the old woman next to her as she leans in and grabs the handle of another large designer bag.
My hand pushes down into the smooth leather of the purse, slipping into the side pocket, rooting around for the soft material of the pouch that encases the diamond. Locating it easily, I enclose it in my fist and extract it from the purse, all before Dorian has even lifted her luggage off the conveyor.
Leave Me Breathless: The Black Rose Collection Page 104
