Four
SPENCER
Concentrating on a new target while still tasting Charity on my lips is like trying to tread water with ankle weights tied to my feet.
As agreed, we leave Suede after our close call and head to another club. I don’t bother remembering the name of the next one. My mind races too hard with the feel of her curves under my hands and her mouth on mine.
The payout had better be worth the clusterfuck Charity made of my night.
It doesn’t help she’s sitting less than twenty feet away with her tits in some jackass’s face. The more he smiles, the more I want to punch the shit out of him. Catching her eye, I shoot her a warning look, but she just smirks and runs her fingers along the graying hair at his temples.
Fucking women.
Sighing, I redirect my attention and get my head back in the game. The new club seems less upscale and more like a frat party. Normally, I avoid such places. Normally, money doesn’t congregate here as much as broke ass twenty-somethings looking to drink on someone else’s dime.
Normally being the operative word here.
Nothing about Charity St. James is normal.
And my head isn’t in the game as much as other parts of me.
Fucking Charity.
I watch her blow her new mark a kiss before heading toward the bathroom yet again. I chuckle to myself. She’s nothing if not a creature of habit.
I shift my gaze to the poor asshole following her swinging ass down the hallway.
I feel a little sorry for him. His balls are probably as blue as a Smurf’s asshole.
I know the agony well. Instead of sitting there, he should exit out the back and take care of that shit himself because she isn’t coming back.
By now, Charity is one wallet richer and already scoping out her next target. The only thing he’ll be doing is icing his sack all night.
“So what’s your story, Matthew?”
The fuck?
I turn toward the redhead staring at me with vodka swimming in her eyes. Damn it. I’ve been so preoccupied keeping tabs on Charity, I’ve neglected my own mark. Christ, I need a notepad to keep all this shit straight. “What story, baby?”
I call her baby because I couldn’t recall her name if she held a gun to my head.
“Your story. You said you were a lawyer.”
I did? Shit.
Luckily, this woman is one drink away from falling off the barstool.
Even now, she holds her vodka with her thumb and forefinger, swinging it around to emphasize every third word.
Physically, she’s a mess, too. Her dark-colored lipstick is smeared to one side, and she’s staring more at my forehead than my eyes.
I think her name is Nina.
“Another drink?” I motion to the bartender without waiting for a response. She nods, her head wobbling unsteadily.
Hmm, maybe it’s Nita.
I should be ashamed of myself. Taking advantage of a target this drunk isn’t a challenge. It leaves me unsatisfied with no high at the end. But with a bet on my hands, beggars can’t afford to be choosers. I have a point to make and a debt to collect.
Charity St. James will be in my bed and hate herself for loving every minute of it.
So, for tonight I’ll bend my rules, take what Nina or Nita, or whatever the hell her name is, has to offer, and collect the reward I’ve been waiting forever to claim.
I run my fingers across Nina/Nita’s neck, feeling for the clasp on her emerald necklace.
Of course, she takes it as an invitation to grab my thigh.
The woman does nothing for me, but I’m not about to lose what looks to be a necklace worth about a couple grand.
So I smile and shift to keep her nails from going for more.
“What I want to drink isn’t on the menu,” she slurs, her hand slipping off my thigh. Losing her balance, she grabs onto the bar with both hands. “My place isn’t far.”
I wince as she stares at me like the last steak at an all-you-can-eat buffet. I’ve never been one for modesty. I know I look good. My pants fit just right, and my shirt is unbuttoned just enough to entice, yet not offend.
Unattainable yet irresistible.
Is that cocky? Maybe, but I’ve been at this long enough to know what women want and how to manipulate them.
Call me heartless, but I like to eat on a regular basis and have a roof over my head every night.
It isn’t her fault she drank too much and will wake up tomorrow wiped clean of all her shit.
That’s what the buddy system is designed for.
Unfortunately, Nina/Nita is the gazelle that strayed from the pack.
Poor gazelle. Lucky me.
“Why don’t you let me call you a cab? You’ve had too much to drink already.”
“Nope,” she argues, popping the “p” at the end of the word while smearing her lipstick with the back of her hand. “Just getting started. And right now, I want to fuck.”
And right now, I want a million dollars and to be balls deep in Charity’s pussy. We don’t always get what we want, sweetheart.
Ten minutes and a lot of coddling later, I stuff Nina/Nita’s drunk ass in a cab and send her to sleep off what will undoubtedly be a wicked hangover.
With her hands off me, and Charity off to parts unknown, I can concentrate on other targets.
I’m determined to ensure the night ends the way I want it to.
However, smelling my rival’s perfume on my clothes is doing shit-all for my concentration, and mark after mark, I fight to keep my focus on the job and away from tearing off Charity’s dress.
Eventually, I get my mojo back, and with my pockets full and confidence high, I call it a night at one-fifteen a.m. After paying my tab and leaving a hefty tip, I turn to leave when I find the entrance blocked by a uniformed police officer and the man Charity robbed blind at Suede.
They talk in hushed tones with the doorman as the guy Charity called Paul waves his hands frantically, his face somehow both pale and flaming red.
Fuck, he’s pissed.
I need to get the hell out, but my conscience and a deep-rooted worry for Charity’s safety negate all my good sense. Before I can stop myself, I walk from the bar to the club’s entrance, cursing myself the whole way.
I just need to hear what they’re saying.
“Excuse me, sir?”
I freeze as the officer stops me with his hand on my wrist.
It isn’t the first time I’ve been stopped by a cop, and it won’t be the last. I’ve seen more than my fair share of the inside of a jail cell. That isn’t what gives me pause. It’s the fact I have enough stolen shit on me to put me away longer than I’ve been alive.
Plus, I have somewhere to be.
“Yes?” I ask way more calmly than I feel.
What if Nina/Nita came back after realizing I’d robbed her? Or what if Mindy went to the bathroom and saw her earrings were gone? One check of my pockets and I’ll be fucked beyond belief.
“I think he was there,” Paul says, pointing a finger in my direction.
I ignore him. “I have no idea what he’s talking about.”
“Sir,” the officer begins, holding a hand up to silence Paul. “There’s been a string of thefts in a few clubs tonight, and this man was one of the victims. He claims a woman took his money and valuables. The trail led us here. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about her, would you?”
At my shrug, he describes Charity right down to the star-shaped birthmark on her neck, and I shoot Paul a look for being that damn close to her.
“Nope,” I say crisply. “I don’t remember anyone with that description.” I hold my breath, knowing whatever happens in the next thirty seconds will determine the next twenty to life.
After being asked for identification, I produce one of the fifteen Florida driver licenses I carry for emergencies and pray he doesn’t ask me any information that’s on it.
Hell if I know which one I grabbed.
After a few tense moments of glancing from the ID to my face, the officer nods, much to Paul’s frustration. “Okay, Mr. Kingston, you have yourself a good night and watch out for your valuables.”
You’d better believe it.
I leave the bar, knowing exactly where I’m headed. Once I make it back to the hotel room, I make plans to trade in a couple necklaces for some quick cash.
I’ll need something to bail Charity out of jail.