“Whatever.” I couldn’t figure out why they’d hung around anyway. Wasn’t I the one serving a sentence? Yet there was nothing I’d been asked to do that they hadn’t done right along with me. What was their angle?
“I’ll be back to pick you up.”
“Don’t bother.”
“Easton will escort you to and from the apartment building to make sure you don’t wander.” Dad’s deep voice from behind me had my hackles rising. So that was it. They didn’t trust me.
“Last I checked, I was perfectly capable of getting where I need to go myself.”
He didn’t even flinch at my petulant attitude. Until recently, I hadn’t pulled that often, but I wanted him to feel something. I wanted a reaction. I didn’t get it.
“You will go to your apartment and to this facility. That’s it.”
I looked at him incredulously. “I don’t think so.”
“That’s part of the arrangement.” He put his hands in his pockets, oh so casually.
I glanced at my brother. His face gave nothing away, and he remained silent.
“Not as far as I’m concerned.”
“If the alternative’s what you prefer . . .” Dad shrugged as if indifferent.
“Mama didn’t say that was part of the deal—”
“It isn’t your mother’s stipulation.”
I kicked out my foot. “Do I get an ankle monitor too?”
His eyes turned cold. “The choice is yours.”
“I’m not wearing a goddamned ankle monitor,” I shouted, garnering the attention of several ladies.
“I meant whether you serve here or in a prison.”
I might have only heard what I wanted to, but I swore he almost choked out the word prison.
“I can’t stay confined to that apartment. I have things to do—” Jesus, who was going to run things at the office? I could work online as I’d been doing, but I had to make an occasional appearance.
“You’ve done enough.”
“Drew, there’s an issue with the downstairs toilet. It’s about to overflow.” Mrs. Quinn rushed to where we stood in the dining room.
“Lead the way,” I said, following her as she hurried back in the direction she’d just come from. I walked backward and stared at my father and brother. “You can’t enforce a house arrest.”
I’d decided I didn’t care if the residents overheard. What did it matter now? They probably already realized I wasn’t here by choice.
I turned around before they could respond.
* * *
I hadn’t dressed the part because this morning I hadn’t been totally sure I would do as my mother asked. Toilet water splashed onto my custom-tailored suit as I plunged. So maybe I was a little overzealous, taking out my frustration on the wooden stick with rubber on the end. After a few more plunges, I flushed. Down the massive wad of toilet paper went.
I flushed again just to make sure it was back to normal.
Fixed.
I wiped my hands down my suit pants and winced when I felt the damp splatters. Ugh. Once I washed my hands, I returned the plunger to the janitorial closet.
I needed a cigarette.
It was after four o’clock, and I’d had enough, but dinner wasn’t for another two hours. No one said I could take a break, but no one had said I couldn’t either.
I pushed out of a back entrance that opened into an alley and shimmied a rock between the door and the frame so I wouldn’t be locked out. It was cold as shit, but the cool air was welcome. I tapped out a cigarette, shoved it between my lips, and bent my head to light up. One drag and I calmed only marginally. Something stronger would be necessary to ease my nerves. I dropped the lighter back in my pocket, left my hand in it for warmth, and blew out a stream of smoke.
Leaning against the brick wall, I bent a knee and propped one foot against it. I just wanted this day to be over. Why not just go? There’s no one to stop me.
Two cameras were directed at the back entrance. Two pointed in opposite directions down the alley. A fingerprint reader was on the wall next to the door. What did this place need all the high-tech security for? Especially if they were going to let someone like me just waltz inside.
Wonder if Mrs. Quinn is watching me? How soon would I be locked up if I bailed on the shelter?
The door burst open, and I shot out an arm to stop it from smacking me in the face. “Watch it, sugar,” I said harshly. Being nice wasn’t on my list of requirements. I’d grin and bear it inside, but out here, I’d do what I liked.
Blue eyes flashed, and dark curls framed a bruised face. “Call me sugar again, and I’ll knee you in the balls.”
“Knee me in the balls, and I’ll take my belt off and whip your sweet little ass with it, sugar.” I hadn’t seen her ass yet, but with those curves and perky tits, I could only imagine it would be cush. Heat flared in her angry eyes. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” I pushed off the wall, wanting to back her up against the door. But then I paused. A skinny mutt bared his teeth at me and growled. “What the hell is that?”
“Nice. Threatening to beat a woman at a shelter for the abused. And her dog.”
I was a bastard. Didn’t give a fuck. Something about this woman said she didn’t take abuse from anybody, despite the shiner. This was no helpless, meek little lady. Hell, she wasn’t a lady at all. I’d seen the women here, and she wasn’t like them.
I narrowed my gaze on her and inched forward, catching her knee as she discreetly lifted it to do exactly as she’d threatened. I longed to wrap that long leg around my waist and press her into the wall. Getting physical with a woman who hadn’t given all the signals she wanted it wasn’t my style, but I wasn’t thinking with my head, just reacting, the most real moment I’d experienced in a long, long time.
I leaned in close enough to catch the scent of spearmint on her breath. She kept her expression neutral, but interest flickered in her eyes. Her tongue darted between her lips and disappeared so quickly I thought I’d imagined it. The move went straight to my groin.
I wanted that tongue. I wanted her mouth. Instead of acting on what my dick was demanding I do, I dropped her leg. She stumbled and reached out, grabbing my arm to steady herself. Surprise registered on her face before sheer hatred took its place.
“You do want it.” There was a hint of wonder in my voice I regretted letting escape. I had a tigress against the wall, claws out and ready to fight. God, I wanted to tame that wildness. Then again, maybe I didn’t.
The dog released a shrill bark. He might be a bag of bones, but he had fight. I took out one of the cinnamon-coated dried apple pieces from the bag I kept in my pocket and tossed it to him. He caught it and swallowed it whole.
“What happens if I tell Mrs. Quinn about your unwanted sexual advances and threats of violence? Just how much trouble would you be in?” she taunted as if I hadn’t just fed her starving dog.
“Tell her whatever you want.” I took a drag off my cigarette and blew it in her face. She inhaled like an ex-smoker who hadn’t wanted to quit. “Want a drag?”
Her eyes drifted hungrily to the cigarette glowing between my fingers. The tigress wanted a puff. “No,” she finally said, glaring.
“You sure?” Her breath hitched as she hesitated. “How long has it been, sugar?” I inhaled dramatically, teasing her.
“Fucking Parliament Lights,” she muttered, turning her head away.
Her cigarette of choice.
“Do we already have something in common?” I goaded, and those eyes jerked back to mine, furious. I had to suppress a smile. Riling up this tigress was far more fun than screwing with my family.
“Don’t insult me,” she scoffed, lifting her chin.
“How’d you get the black eye?”
“You’re an asshole.”
“That’s not news. Now what happened? Boyfriend? Cat fight?” I took another drag, and she held her breath. Another possibility came to mind. “Did you do that to yourself, sugar? Have somebody hit you
on purpose?”
Her hand lifted to smack the shit out of me, but I caught her wrist. “Fucker.”
“I’m more than willing to show you just how much of one I am.” My rapidly thickening dick was fully on board and seemingly in control. I should have been worried Mrs. Quinn was watching this entire exchange on the cameras. I should’ve considered being so close to this woman could cut short my time here, having consequences I didn’t want to face. Instead, I wanted to find out what the oh-so-eager-to-knee-me-in-the-balls woman would do next.
She shoved at me, but it was useless. I was too strong, though she was no lightweight. There was more to this woman than met the eye, and I wanted to find out what it was. That was an enigma in and of itself. I didn’t give a fuck what anybody was about. There could only be a single number one, and I was most definitely it.
“Well, sugar,” she said venomously, making me smile. “I wish I could say it’s been nice knowing you, but I wouldn’t want to start lying now.”
“Because you’re a pillar of truth?”
The edge of her lip turned up ever so slightly. “Hope you can find somewhere else to serve your sentence. You’re out of here,” she threatened, and I shrugged indifferently.
“What makes you so sure I’m not here out of the goodness of my heart? Volunteering?”
She snorted. “You’re not.”
So what if she saw through me. “If I go, you go.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said matter-of-factly, nostrils flaring. Now that surprised me. She wasn’t terrified of me . . . and shouldn’t she be? At a woman’s shelter? I wouldn’t allow her any power over me, though.
“Don’t think you can be that confident, sugar. I doubt any of the other women inside would be as calm as you are right now. Maybe you’re the one who shouldn’t be here.”
She laughed in my face, but I knew that laugh—contrived, purposeful, and without mirth. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said harshly, the laughter dying instantly. “Now let me go.”
“You sure that’s what you want, my little tigress?”
When she shoved again, I stepped back, unblocking her path. She looked momentarily stunned but collected herself as if nothing had happened. Her face got to within an inch of mine. “I’m not your little anything, jackass.”
She and the mutt disappeared inside, and I chuckled, taking one last drag before tossing the butt on the ground and stomping it out. Maybe this “punishment” wasn’t so bad. There was no way I was going anywhere as long as that vixen was around. In her presence, I was more engaged than I had been with anyone in years. I didn’t even like her, but something about her sparked my interest. And that head of curls . . . I could almost feel my fingers tangled up in them while I fucked her senseless. They were already wild, but I’d make them untamed while she was at my mercy.
I had other shit to worry about besides getting more pussy, but I wanted hers. She didn’t just spread her legs. It was why I’d gone after sweet Holly all those years ago, to see if I could get a woman like her under me. One who wasn’t throwing herself at me to see what I would give her.
I patted the back pocket of my slacks a couple of times. Son of a bitch.
The tigress had lifted my wallet.
Chapter Eight
Sonya
He was a Valentine baby?
I stared at the date of birth on Drew Harris Carter’s Texas driver’s license. Wasn’t that supposed to be the day of love? There wasn’t a speck of goodness in that man.
Yet there was something about him I was drawn to. Was that why I had “Something About You” by Hayden James playing?
I tapped the edge of the plastic with my manicured nail. He was bad. Rotten. Exactly someone I’d try to use. It had been too easy to swipe his wallet. As we’d sparred, I’d expected better from him. Why it bothered me that I’d gotten away with it, I didn’t know, but disappointment niggled at the back of my brain.
He was infuriating. A pig. Rude. Brutal.
I glanced at the license again. Who the hell actually had a decent photograph on one of these things? Drew Harris Carter did, that was who. Yet another reason to hate him.
“You didn’t like him either.” Sam wagged his tail and blinked up at me. “Traitor. You ate whatever it was he fed you.”
Thump. Thump. Thump.
His tail wagged harder, and I stroked behind his ears.
“Let’s see what else we’ve got.”
I riffled though the wallet. Multiple American Express Centurion credit cards. An expired car insurance card for . . . a Ford pickup? I’d pictured him driving a Maserati or a Bentley. Definitely not a pickup. His suit probably cost as much as a truck.
A Visa. Discover. Mastercard. Another Visa.
The pile of plastic grew on the comforter beside me.
A Costco membership. With another impeccable photo. I tried to picture him warehouse shopping and couldn’t come up with the image to save my life.
I unfolded a photo, and my eyes were immediately drawn to him. This younger version of Drew still had a cocky smile, but it was carefree. His arms were slung around the two men who were at the shelter with him earlier today, both of them laughing. Even though the paper was worn, I felt the joy radiating from the photo. They weren’t the only three posing. Two women were beside them, but one had a crease through her face, making it impossible to see her features. Mother and sister maybe? The photo paper appeared to have been opened and closed so many times, there were white ridges in the crinkles.
Who was this man?
In the same slot I’d pulled the photo from, a baseball card peeked out. If possible, it was more worn than the picture and basically a solid rectangle of wrinkle. I could read Texas Rangers on the bottom, but like the woman in the other photo, the face on the card was too far gone to make out.
Weren’t baseball cards supposed to be treasured to hold their value?
Finally, I checked the long slot for bills. A twenty, a five, and three ones. I fingered the smooth leather of the bi-fold wallet. It was a two-thousand-dollar Tom Ford and housed not a single hundred dollar bill.
Who. Was. This. Man?
He wasn’t at Paths of Purpose by choice, and if he treated all women the way he’d just treated me, he shouldn’t be here.
I didn’t like him.
I especially didn’t like him seeing through my bruise, almost as if he knew the story behind it. I thrived on my marks buying whatever I chose to sell. Drew Harris Carter and I were more alike than I was comfortable with.
I touched my earlobe, but the earrings that were always there when I was between marks were missing. My neck and wrist twinged with the bare feeling in the absence of my other jewelry. That made me restless. Less grounded. Indecisive.
I should turn him in to Mrs. Quinn. Get him out of here before he caused problems for me. His threat to expose me wasn’t hollow. He’d been too . . . forbidding, as if he had the resources and the means to unmask me, and I couldn’t risk that.
Except . . . I didn’t really want him to go.
For every second he’d infuriated me, my interest had been equally piqued, which was dangerous. That made it too easy for him to get inside when I survived by keeping people out. The element of danger was what lured me into swindling men. There was always a risk of getting caught, and I liked pushing the envelope and seeing just how far I could go and still escape.
Stealing Drew’s wallet was playing with fire. That one act essentially confirmed exactly what he’d accused me of. I wasn’t who I seemed. Part of me had wanted him to know, to find out what he’d do, see if he would try to get me kicked out of here. I didn’t think he would. Not yet. But the little tingle of nerves at the thought of being exposed excited me.
He was bad news, too tempting. He wouldn’t just hand over the cash and the gifts. I’d have to work hard, and I’d enjoy it all the more when I got him to give me something big because I didn’t like him.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“Sonya?”
Dammit. “Just a sec,” I called, shoving the contents back into Drew’s wallet and under the pillow. I smoothed my face into a pleasant expression and opened the door.
“Hey. I didn’t mean to disturb you, but you weren’t at dinner, so I thought I’d bring something up to you,” Trish said, carrying a plate of food in one hand and a bowl for Sam in the other.
“You didn’t have to do that.” I tried to sound appreciative, but it came out forced.
The smile on Trish’s face dimmed. “I’ll just put it on the table and get out of your way.” She placed the plate on the nightstand, hesitating as if waiting for an invitation to stay.
Company was the last thing I wanted, but I heard myself offering her a seat while I grabbed the plate and sat on the bed. Trish bent to place Sam’s bowl on the floor, but I pointed beside me. Why should he have to eat on the floor if I wasn’t?
He gobbled down the entire bowl before I’d even swallowed a bite of sweet potatoes.
“It’s not going to get away,” I said lightly, but he continued to lick the empty bowl like it was still full.
“You never know.” Trish’s voice was quiet. So quiet I paused mid-bite to look at her. Those words sounded like they came from a person who spoke from experience. She pasted a smile on her face, no trace of the shadows that had just been there. “Did Mrs. Quinn tell you about the mentorships?”
“Nope,” I said around a bite of chicken. This food was as good, if not better, than the Michelin-starred restaurants I’d dined in. Guess Sam wasn’t the only one inhaling his dinner.
“Mulaney Carter heads up the program. We’re paired with leaders in industries we’re interested in. My food truck is opening soon.” Her excitement was palpable. I thought shelters just got people back on their feet and shoved them out the door? Not this one, it appeared.
“Congratulations.” I wasn’t sure what to say. Running a business—even an illegitimate one— was hard. She’d been nice to me, and I didn’t want to burst her bubble with statistics of how many new businesses failed.
Thick As Thieves: An Enemies-To-Lovers Romance (Paths To Love Book 5) Page 4
