Fucking hell. I never knew it could feel like this. I never knew anyone could make me feel the way Ashley Marrón does. Not just the sex—although that is fucking mind-blowing, I have to admit. But I’ve never felt so tempted to open up to someone before. Especially not the last person on the planet I should be trusting or opening up to. The one person sent here to make me do just this, to win information for her snake of a father, who’d use that information to put me in solitary for life, or probably worse if he thought there was a chance I might someday speak out against him.

The moment I tell Ashley what really happened—the moment her father gets his hands on that money—I’m as good as dead. I know Marrón has men on the inside here. Hell, even the guards let him set up this fake fiancée arrangement, not just once, but three times now. It wouldn’t take more than a snap of his fingers to get me killed.

And yet, here I am. Here I am, softening toward her. Here I am, thinking about doing this. Thinking about telling her the truth, about trusting her.

I shouldn’t. I can’t. And yet…

“You have to promise me something, Ashley,” I murmur.

“Anything,” she replies, without hesitation, without guile. I’m right. She’s too good for her old man. By miles. Too good for this entire shit situation she’s been roped into.

“Promise me, whatever happens, that you won’t think worse of me, for telling you this. I shouldn’t. I should take this story with me to the grave. But…” My words catch in my throat.

She shifts in my arms. Rolls over, and this time, I let her. Let those big brown eyes of hers find mine, and lock on. I can’t lie. Not when she looks at me like that. “But?” she murmurs.

“But you make me want to tell the truth. No matter how many people it puts in danger.”

A little frown line appears between her brows. A crease of concern that I want nothing more than to kiss and smooth away. But I’m about to make that frown line deeper, and I know it.

“Telling me about the money won’t put anyone in danger, Damon,” Ashley whispers. “All it will do is secure my father’s business—my business, for a little while longer. That’s it. We don’t want to hurt anyone, I promise you.”

“You don’t, Ashley. And I believe that. But I was telling you the truth when I said you don’t know your father as well as you think you do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She lifts her chin, meets my gaze without fear, without judgment. She just wants the truth. I’ve not met many people like her, people who aren’t looking for white lies to soften the blow or to ease the pain. I’m usually a straight shooter—I’m not used to being the one tempted to lie, tempted to tell her another story, any story, that will make this easier for her.

But when I stare into those big brown eyes of hers, and when she whispers, “Tell me, Damon,” I can’t do anything else.

“I agreed to do a job for your father. To rob the Cornerstone Bank. Local business, owned by Eric Brown. Small job, not a huge payroll, but I was in a bind, needed the cash.”

Her brow furrows a little bit more. “I know all this.”

“No,” I tell her, “you don’t. Not the whole truth of it.”

“Then explain to me what I’m missing.”

I lean closer. Tilt my head forward until my forehead rests against hers, and I have an unimpeded view of those gorgeous eyes, the kind of eyes a guy like me could drown in. She might look innocent, but Ashley Marrón is dangerous, all right. Possibly the most dangerous woman I’ve ever met.

I decide I don’t care.

“Things went south. The owner’s wife and kid were at the bank too. The wife started to scream the moment she saw my gun. I managed to calm her down, got the owner to fill the bags I carried. But when my back was turned…” I groan. “The wife had a cell phone. She dialed the police. I called your father, told him we had to abort—he was outside in the car. I was running to meet him, bag from the vault in hand, when I ran into him going the other way. Back into the bank.”

I pause, check Ashley’s expression. She’s still staring at me, deadpan, waiting for the reveal.

God, I hope I’m doing the right thing. I hope this blow doesn’t hit her as hard as I fear it will.

“He had a gun drawn, Ashley. I sensed something was wrong. I shouted for Eric, the bank owner, to run. He didn’t, though. He helped his wife and daughter out the side door, then faced your father alone, unarmed.”

“No,” Ashley breathes. “Dad didn’t—he wouldn’t.”

“I stole the car your father left idling. Picked up the wife and daughter around the side of the bank. Drove them away, just as we heard the gunshot back inside.”

“He wouldn’t.”

“Your father doesn’t like leaving loose ends, Ashley. He was worried Eric would talk, pin this back on us. He called, left me about a dozen voice messages telling me how and where to kill the wife and kid. It took a while before he realized what I must have done. That I’d freed them instead.”

“We don’t kill innocent people,” Ashley says, louder now. She pulls away from me a little, her expression hard. “It’s the number one thing Dad always promised me. The one code we stand by.”

“You don’t know your father half so well as you think, Ashley. I’m sorry.”

Ashley swallows down whatever protest is clearly itching at her throat next. Her forehead is a tight crease of a frown, and in her eyes, I can see the war beginning. Part of her wants to deny it. Wants to call me a liar and a snake and the root of all this evil. But there’s another voice in there. Another part of Ashley, the smart girl that I’ve gotten to know so well in such a short time, who knows better. Part of her knows that this is entirely plausible.

You can’t grow up this smart, and be the daughter of Mauricio Marrón, and not know a thing or two about what that man is capable of doing.

“If you don’t believe me, I left the burner phone we were using for the heist, turned off and with the SIM card removed, in the same place as the cash. When you go to pick that up, you can listen to the voicemails yourself. Hear your father condemn an innocent woman and child to death, just so he can be sure he’s not pursued.”

When I open my eyes again, Ashley is white-faced, staring at me in open-mouthed shock. But she isn’t saying no anymore.

“I’m sorry, Ashley,” I repeat, softer now. “But you need to know. If you’re following in his footsteps, you need to know who Mauricio Marrón truly is.”

Ashley sucks in a deep breath. “God…”

“I hid the money. I knew the next thing your father would do would be to come after me, finish me next, as soon as he had his hands on that cash. It was the only leverage I had. So, once I hid it, I went to the safest place I could think of.” I shrug a little, half a sardonic smile coming to my mouth. “Then I turned myself in. Turned myself in, and I told the cops that Eric’s family was in danger, and they should move them to a safe place, which they’ve done.”

“Damon…” Ashley reaches up to cup my cheek. Her palm feels soft against the rough stubble of my cheek. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea…my father said you’d killed all three of them.”

I shake my head. Tilt my forehead against hers again. “It’s my own fault. I knew the risks when I agreed to work for your father. But you, you don’t deserve this, Ashley. You don’t deserve to be trapped with a man like him as your family. I’ll tell you where the money is hidden, but just promise me that you’ll use it to get yourself away from him.” I reach up to cup her face between my palms, draw her closer to me, desperate. “Run. Somewhere, anywhere, far away from his schemes and his lies. He’s a terrible person, and it’s only a matter of time before he drags you deeper into his mess. You deserve a better life than this.”

“But you don’t deserve this,” she whispers, reaching up to wrap her arms around my neck. “You don’t deserve to be trapped here, imprisoned for a murder you didn’t commit. You should never have taken the blame for that. Talk to your lawyer, see about getting an appeal, Damon.”

I laugh a little. “For the daughter of a mobster, Ashley, you can be so innocent.” The laugh dies away. “I took a plea deal already. That means no hope of parole or further appeals. I admitted guilt, because, like my crappy state-appointed lawyer told me, there wasn’t any proof I didn’t kill Eric, and besides, I robbed the bank, there’s camera footage of me in the vault. Only me. For all anyone else knows, I did this alone. And it doesn’t help that I didn’t give up the money.”

“So give it up and tell the truth.”

“I don’t care about the truth,” I say, louder than I intend to, my hands tightening on Ashley’s shoulders. She freezes, eyes wide with disbelief. “I don’t,” I repeat, softer now. “The truth never saved me before, and it won’t save me now. All that matters is that Eric’s wife and daughter are safe. That, and I can keep hiding the cash from your father. If at least, after all this, that’s the only small vengeance I can get from this mess, well, I’ve made my peace with that. I only wish I could get the money to Eric’s family, but, of course, no way to do that without tipping off your father too…”

“I’ll do it,” she says.

Now it’s my turn to stare at her in surprise. “Ashley…”

“No, please, I mean it. It’s the least I can do. Damon, after everything you’ve been through… Let me help you with this. Let me do this one thing, right this one wrong.”

I search her gaze one last time. If Ashley’s lying right now, this could ruin everything. Get her father’s grubby hands on that cash, get me killed, since I won’t have any leverage left to hold over him, any more reasons for him to keep me alive. But if she’s lying right now, then she is the best goddamn actress I’ve ever met. Because I see nothing in her big brown eyes but pain and heartache and… something else.

Maybe… affection?

Ashley leans in and kisses my lips once more, softly. “Let me do this for you,” she whispers against my mouth.

Just then, someone pounds on the door to the room. “Time’s about up, lovebirds!” the guard shouts through the metal door.

Ashley doesn’t move, doesn’t reach for her clothes, even though she’s still stark naked. Hell, so am I. Neither of us cares. Not right now.

“I’m assuming your father knows where I lived?” I whisper.

She nods.

I pull her close, just as keys jimmy in the lock. “Under the floorboards of my bedroom, there’s a key. Take it to the lockers at the bus station. Farthest one at the back. It’s all in there.”

The door swings open, and I reach down to yank the sheets up to cover Ashley, just in time, as the guard elbows his way inside. Walton. I never liked that guy.

“Well, you two certainly don’t waste any precious seconds,” Walton comments. Then he sneers and eyes Ashley’s body beneath the sheet. “Not that I can say I blame you, Tell. What I wouldn’t do to get a piece of that ass…”

“Close the damn door,” I hiss through clenched teeth.

“Your visitation hour is up.”

I shift in bed, so that Ashley can remain lying down, safely covered. Then I shove to my feet and plant myself facing Walton, not bothering to cover anything. I’m at least a head taller than him, and have plenty more muscle to go around, judging by his narrow arms under that drab uniform. “Close the door and let my fiancée get dressed,” I repeat.

He narrows his eyes. “You don’t get any extra time, Tell.”

“I’m not asking for extra time. I just want her to be allowed to dress herself properly, without an audience gawking at her.” I lift a brow, pointed. “Or would you like me to explain to your supervisor what inappropriate terms you were using to address my fiancée?”

His jaw tenses, tightens. I can practically see the tiny cogs churning behind his eyes, as he calculates whether he’d win over me. But then he glances at the bed, probably remembering Ashley’s surname, or the reason we’re in this private room—because her daddy is one of the most powerful men in the state. Without another word, Walton turns around and slams the door behind him.

“Thank you,” Ashley says, as I reach down to hand her her bra.

“Anything for you,” I say, and as the words come out of my mouth, I realize they’re true.

She smiles. Steps up beside me and wraps an arm around my neck. I bend down for one last, long, lingering kiss. I’ll have to savor this one. Have to remember what she tastes like, smells like, feels like, in all the long, lonely years to come.

When we pull apart again, she’s still smiling. “My turn to do you a favor, Damon Tell,” she whispers.