Dominic
Ididn’t grow up with a silver spoon in my mouth like most kids in LA. I did what I had to survive. Unfortunately, Los Angeles’s finest didn’t quite see it that way, and I found myself a nice little six-by-eight-foot home away from home.
You might think I regret breaking the law, but I don’t.
The time I spent behind bars taught me things I would’ve never learned anywhere else.
Like just because a man wears a badge doesn’t mean he’s the good guy, and sometimes the truth won’t set you free, but degrees of distortion will line your pocket.
Mostly, I learned if you listen more than talk, problems solve themselves. The key is to blend in with your surroundings enough that people forget you exist. Eventually, they get so caught up in being the center of their own universe they don’t notice you’ve become a part of it.
And that’s how I find out Angel the waitress is also Angel the actress.
A fucking actress.
Maybe somebody up there does like me because this just keeps getting better.
“Here.”
My elbows slip off the table as a glass clunks in front of me. Looking up, I see Angel standing at the edge of my table wearing a triumphant smile. I glance down at the tall shot glass full of thick white liquid topped with whipped cream. “What the hell is that?”
“A Sloppy Seconds shot.”
“And what is it doing in front of me?”
“You told me to prove I know what kind of man you are.” Dropping her palms against the table, she slides them forward until her breasts are eye-level to my face. “Well, taking into consideration your lack of charm and weak conversation skills, I assume sloppy seconds are all you’re used to.”
Son of a bitch.
I don’t know whether to report this girl or worship at her feet. Instead, I push the shot away. “You’re ballsy, you know that?”
“And you’re a sore loser.” Letting out a low laugh, she reaches across me to grab the wad of cash, but I clamp my palm over the top of her hand.
“Not so fast.” Reaching under my wallet, I unroll the folded ticket. “The bet was for you to bring me what I wrote on this paper.”
Her smile peels into a smirk as she closes the space between us, leaning across the table as her finger curls around the money. I can’t help that my gaze goes straight to her chest again. I’m a man, and it’s involuntary.
That’s when she lets out a low laugh. “My mistake, cupcake.”
I’m so distracted watching her tongue dart out and drag across her bottom lip it’s only the sight of my money disappearing that shakes some sense back into me. Growling, I grab her wrist.
She’s practically draped over my lap as she hisses, “Let go of me.”
I release my hold and let her take it and walk away with an extra sway in her hips because what the hell, that was the most entertainment I’ve had in weeks. It also verifies my instinct about her.
Reaching into my pocket again, I pull out the creased picture, unfolding it with a calculated hand.
“What do you know…” A slow smile spreads across my face as I glance from one fallen angel across the bar to another.
“Milly was right after all. Once you stop looking for what you want, you really do find what you need.”
I found her.
I wait for Milly to respond to my text. Just when I’m about to type a few four-letter words, my phone lights up.
I still don’t think this is a good idea.
Of course, it’s not. I never said it was a good idea, but it’s the only one we’ve got.
Good thing I don’t pay you to think.
Three dots indicate active typing flash. Then stop. Then start again. What the hell? Is she writing a thesis?
Fine. What do you want?
To go back seventeen years and not get in that fucking SUV, for starters. But I don’t type that. Instead, I set something in motion that could very well bite me in the ass.
Build a blast with the headline: Alexandra Romanov found alive and well and living in Chula Vista, California.
I toss the phone face down on the table before she can respond.
It’s not the catchiest grab, but then again, it doesn’t have to be.
It’s a guaranteed money maker. Regretfully, it’s at this girl’s expense, but we all can’t win in life.
It’s not my fault I happened to be in the right place at the right time.
Besides, it’s not like what I’m about to offer isn’t the opportunity of a lifetime for someone like her.
We all pay a price in life.
Show me a kid who dreams of growing up and airing people’s dirty laundry for a living, and I’ll show you a liar. But I’m not here to complain about labels when my life is on the line.
Minutes ago, my ship was sinking. Then she walked out from behind that piece of shit bar, saving the day, my ship, and my ass. The woman who, in moments of taking my last twenty bucks, just became the most important person in my life whether she likes it or not.
That cocktail waitress is my golden ticket. She’s everything I’ve been looking for. Perfect eyes. Perfect hair. Perfect charm. Perfect wit. Perfect puppet. The world wants an heiress, and I need them off my back.
It’s a no brainer.
People will sell their souls for a buck these days.
My own words come out of nowhere, drilling holes into what little conscience I have left. For half a second, I hesitate. This is a ball that once put in motion, can’t be stopped.
Fuck it.
I sold my soul a long time ago. Besides, if I don’t step up to the plate, someone else will.
Why not me? Why not her? Once Angel hears what’s in it for her, I doubt she’ll have many objections.
If she does, I’ll charm my way past them.
Just because I’m an asshole ninety percent of the time, it doesn’t mean that ten percent isn’t lethal when I want it to be.
I can lay a little girl to rest as I lay a brand-new starlet at the world’s feet.
It’s selfish. It’s risky. It’s a gamble that could very well land both of us behind bars. But I’m likely headed there anyway, and if she’s desperate enough to try and scam me out of twenty bucks, she can’t be far behind.
And that’s when I make my decision.
I’m not leaving here without her.
I slide out of my chair, anxious to get the show on the road.
I don’t have a tab to pay. The whiskey was on the house, and I already paid twenty dollars for a goddamn drink I didn’t even order.
Which is a good thing, because thanks to a certain waitress all I have left in my wallet are credit cards and condoms. Regrouping, I roll around what I’m going to say to Angel in my head as I bend over the table for my wallet.
It’s not there. I pat down my pockets. It’s not there.
I check again, because surely, I missed it. Surely, I’m not the idiot who drove to the middle of nowhere, spent all night at Satan’s pit stop, only to end up losing his wallet.
A red haze blots my mind as I rewind the last hour. I had my wallet when I walked in. I had it with me at the table because I took cash out of it when Angel came over, and I decided to swing my dick around. She served me that fucking shot, shoved her tits in my face, leaned over to grab the money…
Ding. Ding. Ding.
I push off the table so hard it rattles. “Fuck me.” I spin around, pure octane pumping through my veins. Fuck this bar. Fuck this waitress. Fuck my wallet.
And fuck my offer.
It just turned into an ultimatum.
As I tear through the kitchen, men in white aprons and bewildered faces glance up, unsure of whether to stop me or go back to doing their shit jobs. Most of them make the right choice, except for one exceptionally stupid asshole who steps in front of me.
“You can’t be back here.”
“Move.” I surprise myself at how calm my voice sounds when I’m two seconds away from punching this guy’s lights out. He starts to argue when a familiar pair of olive-green eyes steps in front of him, her hands fisted at her side like she’s pissed I want to hit this guy.
Me.
The guy she ripped off.
“Can I fucking help you, Dick?” she hisses.
I’m on her before she can say a damn word. Wrapping my hand around her arm, I drag her out the back door as she stumbles behind me. It isn’t until the metal door slams behind us, and she realizes we’re alone in a dark alley, that she plants her feet and fights back.
“Are you insane? Let me go!” The words come out a little shrill as if her mind is working at twice the speed of her mouth. I can tell she’s calculating her best option for escape, and that’s why I anticipate her next move before she can make it.
“Oh, you do like to play dirty, don’t you?
” With a sharp twist, I block her aim and swing her around, driving us both into the side of the building, “I just want to talk, cupcake, but if your knee gets within grazing distance of my dick again, I have no problem doing it with you face down on the ground.”
“I’ll scream,” she hisses, tugging on her pinned arms.
A deep laugh rumbles in my throat. “Oh, please do. And when the dishwater cavalry shows up, you can explain to them how you stole my wallet.”
She jerks against my hold again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t take your goddamn wallet.”
It’s the response I expected. “No?” I arch an eyebrow. “What would you call it? Borrowing it?”
“So, I knocked you down a few notches and won twenty bucks because you have a god complex. So what? That just means you’re just another idiot with an inflated ego. You know, to make up for”—her eyes lower to the tight space between us, a smirk tugging at her mouth—“much smaller things.”
“Insults are the lowest form of retaliation. You can do better than that.”
“Fuck you.”
I smile. “See, now you’re not even trying.”
An infuriating hum rattles low in her throat. “If I had your wallet, it’d be in my apron, and you have me pressed against a wall. There’s not a lot left to the imagination here, champ. If your wallet is as big as you seem to think it is, don’t you think we’d both feel it?”
That’s the second time she’s insulted my dick. Normally, I don’t let that kind of thing get to me, but something about this girl crosses all kinds of wires in my head.