by BJ Bentley
I left my apartment with one goal in mind- stay alive. No, make that two goals- stay alive and don’t let the raging psychopath get the flash drive. I knew there was a good chance I would be followed, so I pulled the hood of my sweatshirt up and kept my head down as I made my way down the street. I ducked in and out between buildings, cut through alleys, and entered the front of a Chinese restaurant before exiting out the back. Once I was certain I didn’t have a tail, I made my way to the sewer grate behind my favorite shoe store. There was no one around at that time of night to see me pull my knife out of my bag, get down on my knees, and cut the small duct taped bundle out from under the lip of the grate. I unwrapped the flash drive and tucked it into my bra before slipping my knife back into my bag. I told myself I was doing the right thing and tried not to panic at the wealth of information I held in my cleavage.
Glancing around, and not seeing anybody, I made my way farther down the street toward the strip. Once I was on the strip, I could get lost in the crowd. Since the Las Vegas strip was filled with folks eager to lose their money, it was easy to lift some basic girl’s clutch while she was distracted taking a selfie. I headed into one of the boutiques nearby and bought myself an outfit appropriate for the next phase of my poorly thought out plan. Dressed to the nines in a sapphire blue cocktail dress with silver shoes and makeup caked on to cover my bruises, I headed into Starlight, the resort and casino owned by the one and only Jensen Holm and prayed I didn’t get myself killed.
Once inside, I did my best to blend in. Got a drink, played some blackjack, flirted with a high roller who gave me a pitying look. The make-up may have covered my bruises, but there wasn’t a whole lot I could do about the swelling. I scanned the main floor and noted the security. Unsure of how to proceed, I made my way to the ladies room to gather my thoughts. Normally, I was great at improvising because I had to be, but this throbbing in my head was making it difficult for me to think straight, and the pain in my ribs was making it hard for me to breathe.
Entering the ladies room, I nearly mowed down a woman in a gorgeous red Valentino dress. “Oh, excuse me,” I mumbled.
“No, I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention,” she replied. She furrowed her brow. “Do I know you?” she asked. Her dark green eyes considered me for a moment.
“Ah, no, I don’t think so. Excuse me,” I wheezed out as I rushed past her, suddenly feeling ill. I barely made it to the stall before I threw up. The more I heaved, the more my ribs ached. I was afraid I might puncture a lung.
“Oh my God, are you okay?” I felt her hand on my back moving in slow circles. “Let me call my husband. He can get someone down here to make sure you’re alright,” she said as I heard her hit a couple of buttons on her phone.
“No,” I insisted. “I’m okay. I just…” the room started to spin, and I threw my arms out to steady myself, the sudden movement jarring my body in a way that made me whimper.
“You’re obviously not okay,” she muttered. “Hey, baby. There’s a woman down here in the ladies room who obviously isn’t feeling well. Can you send someone down to help us out?” She paused. “Thanks, honey,” she said sweetly before hanging up.
“That really wasn’t necessary,” I said stubbornly.
“Hm,” she said as she began eyeing me again. “How’d you get those bruises?”
I closed my eyes and sighed. “Long story.”
The woman seemed to hesitate for a moment before she said, “You know if you need help, my husband can--” she stopped when I held up my hand.
I opened my mouth to speak but closed it.
“My name’s Charlotte, by the way,” she said, holding her hand out for a shake.
I grasped her hand. “Bertie,” I introduced myself. “And listen Charlotte, I appreciate your concern and your offer, but unless your husband happens to be Jensen Holm, I really don’t think he can help.”
The woman seemed stunned for a moment but then a grin split her face. I didn’t understand her reaction to my statement until two men suddenly entered the ladies room. One of them was an EMT, and the other was none other than Jensen Holm.
Chapter 3
Bertie
I scanned Jensen Holm’s office at Starlight and tried to calm my racing heart. While I tried to distract myself, Jensen and Charlotte both scrutinized me. I could tell neither of them liked what they were seeing. The EMT had looked me over and determined that I needed to go to the emergency room for x-rays, scans, and tests of all kinds. I adamantly refused. I clearly wasn’t the first stubborn female he’d ever encountered. He rolled his eyes with a muttered ‘whatever’, had me some sign off on some paperwork stating that I was refusing treatment, and left.
“Who did this to you?” Jensen growled, seated in a club chair.
My hand instinctively rose to my face, and I flinched when I encountered the swelling there.
“Who did you steal from?” Charlotte asked quietly, standing just over her husband’s shoulder.
My gaze flew to her face. Jensen turns to eye his wife questioningly, but she only shrugged in response.
“My wife has an uncanny knack for spotting…others like her.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I insisted. Of course I knew what he meant. Jensen Holm was a big name in this city, and anyone who was anyone knew about his fairly recent marriage to Charlotte Benson, and any thief worth their salt knew who Charlotte Benson-now-Holm was. She was a thief and a great one, too. She tried to steal from Jensen once, but he caught her. That’s how they met. Sadly for me, the man I stole from wasn’t about to fall madly in love with me.
Neither of them spoke again, just gazed at me expectantly. I heaved a sigh.
“Look, if you’re not going to tell us who did that to you, why don’t you start with why you’re here looking for my husband?” Charlotte said, placing a hand on Jensen’s shoulder.
Looking Jensen in the eye, I said, “I need your help getting in contact with someone. I would have waited until morning, but I don’t really have that kind of time,” I explained, indicating my face with a sweep of my hand.
“And who is it you think I can get you in contact with?” Jensen asked with a quirked eyebrow.
“Aleksander Magnus.”
Regarding me with a fair amount of suspicion now, Jensen thoughtfully ran his tongue over his bottom lip. “What do you want with Aleksander?”
“I need his help.”
Jensen all but laughed at that. “What makes you think Aleksander would be willing to help you?”
“We have...history,” I hedged.
Jensen regarded me with narrowed eyes but said nothing.
“Jensen, I think you should call Aleksander,” Charlotte said quietly while giving Jensen’s shoulder a squeeze.
Jensen seemed to debate with himself for a moment more before finally nodding and pulling his cell phone out of his ridiculously expensive looking suit jacket. I watched him tap a couple of buttons before he pinned me with his gaze while he spoke.
“Aleksander. I need you to come to Starlight.” He paused as he listened.
I was momentarily distracted by Charlotte, who handed me a bottle of water and some ibuprofen. The ache was really starting to set in, so when I tried to smile my gratitude, it was more of a grimace.
“Meet me in my office. I believe I have something that belongs to you,” Jensen said before he hung up.
I wasn’t too thrilled with the implication in those words, but I wasn’t really in a position to pick a fight over it. So, I took my ibuprofen, drank my water, and waited. Charlotte rigged up an ice pack for me with supplies from the bar, so I iced my face while I racked my brain for a way to convince Aleksander Magnus to help me.
Thirty minutes later, there was a rap at the door, and I was no closer to a solution. I watched Aleksander enter the room, and he and Jensen spoke in low tones. I took the opportunity to take in all that was Aleksander, from his chiseled jaw to his muscular, but not bulky, build. His narrow hips and his long legs. He wa
s seriously the kind of guy a girl wouldn’t mind riding, whether it was his face or his dick. I suddenly felt the little hairs rise on the back of my neck, and I snapped out of my dirty thoughts as my gaze rose to meet his. “Hey, Sven,” I said with a smirk. I watched in fascination as his lips twitched before breaking out into a full-on shit eating grin. That should have been my first clue that I was in a shit ton of trouble.
“Hello, little one,” he said as he stepped forward. He moved like a predator stalking his prey. That is, until he got close enough to get a good look at my face. Then the seductive glint in his eyes was gone. I watched as his self satisfaction turned to anger. “What happened?” he growled, his body solid but humming with the intensity of his rage.
I shrugged a shoulder. “There was a sale at Saks. Shit got crazy. Never underestimate the lengths women will go to for couture.”
His eyes narrowed and his lips pursed as he held out a hand. “Let’s go.”
I hesitated, but I was unsure why. This was what I came here for, right? I needed Aleksander Magnus and everything that was attached to or associated with that name to protect me and the flash drive. Charlotte must have read my body language because she said, “You can stay with us, if you need--”
“No,” Jensen and Aleksander answered in unison.
“Why the hell not?” she demanded of husband.
“Later, pixie,” he warned her, and I watched as her eyes got big and her mouth got tight. Jensen saw it too. “Later, pixie,” he repeated, only this time it was soothingly. I watched the wind go out of her sails.
“Little one?” Aleksander reminded me he was waiting.
I swallowed and stood up, but the movement caused me to wince, and I was reminded that I’d had my ribs kicked in earlier in the evening. Aleksander gently wrapped an arm around my waist and grasped my hip. Once he guided me out the door and out of the casino, he settled me against his side while his car was brought around.
“I’m going to take you home, little one, and then we’re going to talk,” he murmured in my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. “I need to know who I have to kill.”
Despite my reservations, I was getting what I had told myself I needed, so all I could do what nod in response.
I tried to bite back a moan at the poking and prodding of Aleksander’s physician. “This really wasn’t necessary, you know,” I complained for what seemed like the eight thousandth time.
“It was either this or the ER, and I figured you’d rather be comfortable while you’re examined. So, cool it,” Aleksander commanded.
I begrudgingly allowed the doctor to finish his exam and gratefully took the ice pack handed to me. I paid little attention to the doctor as he relayed to Aleksander something about me needing rest and ibuprofen. I was fairly certain he said nothing was broken, just badly bruised. Well, that was a silver lining, I guess.
Once the good doctor was gone, Aleksander sat on the edge of the bed and shucked his shoes before stretching out next to me, careful not to jostle the bed. Once he was reclined, I inhaled. God, he smelled good. Like the ocean after a storm. I felt a prickle of awareness as he studied me.
“So, are you going to tell me your name, or do I keep calling you ‘little one?’” he asked.
Giving him some serious side eye, I said, “You can call me Bertie.”
“Birdie?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Bertie. Short for Roberta,” I corrected him.
“Ahh. Well, Roberta, here’s what’s going to happen next. You’re going to get some sleep. Then, once you’re well rested, I will feed you. After that, you’re going to tell me everything I want to know,” he said matter-of-factly.
Thinking I was only going to tell him everything I wanted him to know, I agreed. “Fine. G’night,” I dismissed him.
He smirked at me before standing up. “Goodnight, Roberta,” he said as he left the room.
“It’s Bertie,” I grumbled to myself. I hated being called Roberta. The only person who ever called me Roberta was Uncle Ronnie, and I hated that slimy bastard more than anything.
I lost my parents when I was young. Too young to really remember them. The story was that they were partying a little too hard with a little too much heroin. I was three. A neighbor heard me crying and called the police. I was placed with Uncle Ronnie as he was my only known relative, and that was the worst thing that could have happened to me, including the beat down that ultimately landed me in this bed.
Uncle Ronnie was in no way suitable for childcare, but he saw me as his meal ticket. When I was young, between the ages of three and five, he used me whenever he was working a mark. Cute kids always make an excellent distraction for someone whose out to lift your wallet or keys or anything else of potential value you might carry on your person. As soon as I was old enough, he was teaching me the tricks of the trade. I got good at it. Really good. I had to. Because Uncle Ronnie only ever looked out for himself, never for me. Anything I lifted from a mark, Uncle Ronnie took. He used any cash I stole for booze or drugs. He’d buy food too, but usually only for himself, never even giving me a thought. I learned the hard way that if I didn’t look out for me, then who was? I learned early on not to let Uncle Ronnie know the exact amount of money I lifted. Or, I’d give him the cash, but pocket the credit cards.
When I was fifteen, the stolen cash wasn’t enough for Uncle Ronnie. I came home to our rundown apartment one night to discover that dear old Uncle Ronnie intended to trade me to his dealer in order to pay off some debt he’d racked up. Sometimes, when I closed my eyes, I could still smell the putrid breath of the junkie who’d grabbed me by the hair first and the tit second.
“Yeah, she’ll do,” he’d said. “When I’m done with her, I can make a mint selling her pussy on the street. Maybe I ought to consider a career change, huh?” he cackled. “Her pussy’s gonna make me rich!” he laughed, and that was about the time I nailed him in the nuts and took off while he cried like a little bitch.
I ran out the door to shouts of “I’m going to kill you, you cunt!” and then I heard a gunshot. Not daring to look back, I ran as fast as I could into the night.
Uncle Ronnie didn’t survive that night, and neither did my fifteen year old self. I aged about thirty years over the next three years, living on the streets. I thought about getting a job, but, in all honesty, it was easier and more lucrative to put my pickpocketing skills to use. Besides, there were very few people, if any, who were willing to take a chance on a young black girl who obviously looked like trouble.
I learned a lot about how useless pride can be when it comes to survival. A good pickpocket blends in, so I stole a few pieces of designer clothing and made my way to the more popular resorts and casinos to lift wallets and jewelry. I didn’t discriminate when it came to my empty belly. Businessmen, spring breakers, grandmas, newlyweds. You name it, I stole from them. Sometimes, when I had a good night, I’d end up with just enough cash for a cheap motel room. Other nights I spent squatting in abandoned buildings or breaking into one of the high schools for a shower and a couple hours of stolen sleep.
I shook off the memories of being cold, hungry, and alone. I snuggled down as best I could, without causing myself any more discomfort, and pulled the down comforter up to my chin. I briefly wondered where Aleksander was sleeping, but the thought had barely entered my mind before I drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 4
Bertie
I woke with the aroma of fresh coffee wafting into my nose. Opening my eyes, I was met with the most beautiful sight I had ever seen. A full plate of fluffy scrambled eggs, a generous side of bacon, thick slices of heavily buttered toast, a glass of orange juice, and a steaming mug of coffee. I must have died in my sleep because this was surely heaven.
“Good morning, Roberta.”
That was no angel. Devil, maybe. A beautiful devil. The way he was regarding me with his hooded gaze caused a sudden rush of wetness between my legs. I shifted uncomfortably and cleared my throat. “Please don�
��t call me Roberta.”
Aleksander studied my face for a moment before nodding. “Bertie,” he rasped.
“Thank you,” I said as I struggled to sit upright. Aleksander moved to help me adjust the pillows behind my back, and I held my breath until I could relax back against the headboard.
Placing the tray across my lap he said, “I hope you’re hungry, because you’re going to eat it all.”
“Damn straight I am. I’m starving,” I mumbled back. He wasn’t going to get any argument from me. Not on that topic, anyway. I dug in and closed my eyes at the first bite. Delicious.
“Little one,” he growled in a warning that sent a shiver through me.
I looked at him in question, still chewing.
“Do you remember the night we met?”
I swallowed. “Yeah.”
He looked at me with hooded eyes. “When you are healed, we’ll pick up where we left off.”
I started to shake my head. “I don’t--”
“Yes. You do. And if simple scrambled eggs can make you moan like that, just imagine what I can do with my hands. My mouth. My cock.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “You’re awfully confident.”
“You think I don’t have reason to be?” he smirked. “Now, eat up.”
I grunted and tucked back into my eggs.
“I have some things to take care of. You can leave the tray in the hall when you’re done. I’ll be back to check on you later,” he said as he moved toward the door.
I only nodded since my mouth was full, but as he left the room, I heard him say in a wistful voice, “Oh, the sounds you will make.”
