Chapter 1 #2
Betty’s hips swayed as she stopped spinning and stood, pulling my attention back to the present.
Her focus landed on the only light I’d left on.
It hung above the two art pieces by the artist named PERL that were propped below on simple easels.
They were pricey pieces, popular items in the current art market and important enough to draw her out.
She sighed with annoyance, shoulders lax with vexation. “Are you here?” she asked the darkness.
I didn’t reply.
Having watched Betty like a hawk this past year via surveillance, throwing away pathetic suitor after suitor, I’d learned a thing or two about getting her attention.
It required finesse, and a combination of rage bait and patience on my part.
She enjoyed mysteries along with a bit of cat and mouse.
If I made this game too easy for her, she’d grow bored with me and give it up.
I didn’t want that.
Her arms crossed over her ample chest, a perfect hourglass figure silhouetted by the long shadows of the room.
The only sounds were the gentle drag of her boots across the cement floor and the shallow ebb and flow of her breathing.
That silence was soon cracked wide open, the deafening sounds of the rest of her team now zipping down the line.
The world seemed to glow around her, an orbit that intoxicated its inhabitants and left one hopelessly disarmed. Her atmosphere was a fever dream of lust and desire—a sweaty, breathless memory I would remember for the rest of my life.
I was glad to have it.
I heard laughter overhead, echoing down the derelict stairwell.
The stairs were long gone, leaving nothing but an empty shaft going up ten stories to the roof.
Before its closure, this structure housed clothing production, which moved abroad in the eighties.
It’d been abandoned for decades, only a shadow of its once-functioning structure.
I could see Betty’s brother and friend rappelling in tandem from above, slow and steady now, having taken their time in the descent. They touched down with a thud.
Her brother, Nash, fell to his knee before the slight blonde woman. I recognized her from the auction house and the surveillance cameras set up in Betty’s home. There was a glint of something shiny in his hand before I heard him speak.
“Marry me,” he said, out of breath. The proffered item was a diamond ring.
For fuck’s sake.
I wanted to huff loudly, but didn’t want to give myself away. Luckily, eye rolls were silent.
Who picks this moment to propose? This was my moment.
Betty jumped up and down, cheering and hugging the small woman. I grumbled, annoyed at the echoing screech of female joy. It was time to get this over with.
I pushed off the pole, slowly clapping my hands.
The booming sound cut through their excitement, as I had hoped it would.
They halted their celebration, Nash reaching for a gun holstered near his chest. He didn’t draw it, though, hand resting on the handle.
With a nudge of his arm, he ushered the small blonde behind him—his freshly minted fiancée.
I respected his intuitive response to protect her.
That’s how a man should act.
Betty, my buttercup, stepped forward without an ounce of fear, ushering her brother back much in the same way he’d moved to shield his fiancée. I watched as she reached for something in the belt around her waist. It was a taser.
I chuckled. “Buttercup, no need for that.”
She activated it anyway. Her smirk grew beneath the shadow of her baseball cap. That little minx.
Her brother growled. I flicked my gaze to him only briefly, measuring his threat as I would a wolf in the woods. It concerned me, but I didn’t sense he would act on the threat just yet.
Betty took another step toward me. I crossed my arms, adopting a wide stance and puffing myself up like a bear showing its strength. Her taser lit up with life, crackling in her hand.
Bold little thing, looking glorious and fiery with life—she should have been a redhead.
“Is this your idea of flirting?” she teased. “Where the fuck were you?”
I ignored her question. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to stay away,” I retorted.
She scoffed, expressing her annoyance and disdain with the condescending tilt of her head. “100-million dollars worth of stolen art will do that to a woman.”
“Are you stalking me now?” I asked. “I could get used to this.” It felt like foreplay.
“You should. I’m not the type to back down from a challenge,” she shot back.
I nodded. “Good. I wouldn’t want you to. I like my women in charge.”
Her brother growled again, but she gestured him back for a second time. For good measure, she threw in a middle finger. Once he’d conceded, she stepped toward me, a demoralizing look in her eyes.
She sauntered from side to side as she approached, stopping a hair’s breadth from me.
I let my hands drop to my sides. “Hey there,” I teased.
She paused for two beats before her breasts pressed into my chest. I could scarcely breathe, feeling her hardened nipples pebble through the layers between us.
She pinched the brim of my hat and tilted it off my head before dropping it to the ground.
The bill made a hollow thud as it hit the floor.
Her scent enveloped me—rich, musky rose and vanilla.
I ached to touch her, fingers tingling and charged with energy, but the glint of barely haltered rage on her brother’s face held me back. Why did he have to come?
Betty rose on her toes, coming eye to eye with me before leaning close to my ear. Her breath tickled across my neck, warm and moist with her words as she said, “Can I have the art back?”
I felt her tongue caress my earlobe, eliciting a delicious shiver down my spine. I clenched my hands.
“Pretty please?” she added.
I smirked, my balls tightening at the sound of those words on her tongue. “You can have anything you’d like, especially if you say it like that.”
I couldn’t help it; I needed to taste her.
I stepped one foot forward, fitting my thigh between her legs. The warmth of her center was apparent as she pressed forward even more, embracing the contact and pressure.
Tilting my head, I didn’t hesitate as I took her lips in mine, delving into her mouth with abandon. She reciprocated the kiss, tasting of cinnamon, her tongue eager to explore my intrusion. Pulling back ever so slightly, I bit her bottom lip with a gentle tug, but she leaned away in challenge.
I followed like a leashed puppy, much to my demise.
A startling pain jolted my left rib cage, forcing the breath from my lungs.
It sent a bolt of electricity through and across my ribcage, eliciting a sharp pain all the way to the tips of my toes.
It was harsh at first bite, but as it spread, issued a deep and pleasurable punishment in the wake of our kiss.
The little tease had tasered me.
With a grunt, I buckled forward, falling to my knees as a second blow of pain bloomed across my left cheek.
I heard my jaw crack, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth as the inside of my lip split open.
The room was spinning, ears ringing as my hand went to my jaw, rubbing it.
Her brother, Nash, had cashed in on his anger with his fists.
Asshole.
Hunched over and unable to recover, hands grabbed me.
I felt my frozen body drag a short distance before my back was propped against a cold metal pole.
My stiff arms were yanked behind me, wrists bound with the zip of ties filling the air.
My hands went numb from the sudden loss of blood flow.
I could easily break my way out of zip ties, but I found it easier to let this asshole believe he’d bound me.
When Bee approached, I saw double. Lucky for me. She loomed over me before kneeling down to prop herself in my lap.
“Tag, you’re it,” she whispered.
I couldn’t help but press my hips up into her center, drawn by her returned heat to my groin. I grinned and chuckled through the pain.
She leaned close, lips teasing mine. “Gray,” she whispered. “Why did you leave?”
Exerting every ounce of remaining strength, I captured her mouth in answer. Battling anguish, I knew this was the last opportunity I had to be with her. I consumed as much as she’d allow, committing her taste, feel, and smell to memory—something to last a lifetime.
She rolled her hips over the stiff ridge in my pants. I didn’t care that we weren’t alone. I groaned into her mouth before she leaned away from me. Duct tape replaced her kiss; her delicate fingers sealing it over my mouth with a sweet pat.
I inwardly cursed myself. I’d never get the chance to tell her the truth.
My gaze fixed on hers. I conveyed all I could, asking, begging her to listen and see. Maybe with time I’d find my way back to her; maybe there was a way.
I squeezed my eyes shut in agony. No one escaped the mafia. No one. But I was hell-bent on changing that. I swore here and now I’d find a way.
There was nothing to do but watch as the small blonde and Nash packed up the stolen artwork.
Bee hoisted a sledgehammer that I’d propped near the door.
She swung it and broke the handle with a hefty clap of sound.
It was a bit unnecessary, but it appeared she had steam to blow off—she also looked sexy as hell doing it.
The door swung open, exposing the room to the rainy night.
Nash hoisted the small artworks over his shoulder. “If I see you again, I’ll kill you, dickhead,” he warned with a final glare.
I thought it was cute that he thought that. Nash wasn’t a killer. Neither was I. That was the problem.
Bee winked with a grin, the last to leave. She halted in the doorway. The night silhouetted her hourglass frame, her hand on the doorjamb and fingers tapping. Her grin fell slowly as the moment lingered, becoming something serious and deep.
That expression seemed to convey something, but I couldn’t grasp what. Maybe it felt like hope, or an invitation? This wasn’t the end. Perhaps it was her response to my silent plea; her promise to wait for me, and my promise to return.
Despite my need to leave her behind, I now understood how impossible that would be.