Chapter Six
The very worst thing isn’t what will happen to me now. It isn’t even what will happen to Jeb or Maisie, who got themselves into this mess. Who got me into this mess.
The worst thing is that it’s West who’s caught me.
I fought so hard against him, against my attraction to him and the strange trust I had for him. He’s the one who’s going to bring me down. But then, maybe I always knew he would. I pull the old leather bag in front of my like a shield, even though I know it’s useless. I’ve been caught.
“How did you know?”
His lips firmed. “I didn’t.”
I let myself take stock of him, every muscled inch. His jaw is hard, more angular tonight. His skin is a beautiful darkness, as if he was born of the night itself. His body is strong, hanging back because he knows he doesn’t have to force me to make me do what he wants. If I ran, he could catch me.
In his right hand is a gun. I always knew the bouncers of the Grand were packing heat, but it’s a different thing to see the gun up close. He wouldn’t use it on me, would he? But then I didn’t think he’d suspect me either. I didn’t think he’d catch me. And I can’t afford to test him on this.
“You’re waiting in a basement,” I say, thankful my voice doesn’t shake too much. “And you don’t look surprised to see me. You must have known something.”
He gives a hollow laugh. “That’s why. You’re always watching me. Always observing. And you made it clear it’s not because you want to date me.”
I want to date him more than anything, but I wouldn’t even know how to date. It’s not something you can do when you’re constantly in between cons—not unless the boyfriend is a mark. “So I must have wanted to steal?”
He lifts one broad shoulder. “You’ve picked up extra shifts sometimes and then suddenly have to skip them. You’ve lost weight. You chipped in five dollars into the diaper pail.”
Guilt stabs me at the reminder. “So?”
“You usually put in more.”
I manage not to flinch, but barely. It hurts to know he saw me do that—and that he’d been watching me long enough to know what I usually do. It hurts to know he’s seen me lose weight, as if I’m breaking apart right in front of him. “You caught me,” I whisper.
His eyes soften just a fraction. “I made a guess. I hoped I’d be wrong.”
My heart clenches. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
For not being the girl you needed, a girl who would be good enough for you. “For proving you right.”
His expression is grave, his hands almost gentle as he takes the bag from me. I hold tight for a second, a fleeting rebellion, before letting it go. I feel almost naked without it, exposed.
West nods toward the desk—and the wing-back chair behind it. “Have a seat, Bianca.”
The chair is comfortable when I sink down into it, and I have no doubt it’s expensive. But it might as well be a prison cell to me, the wide leather wings blocking me in as effectively as steel bars. Especially when I spot the duct tape sitting on the desk.
My eyes widen. “Wow, you came prepared. You really are a Boy Scout.”
He gives a wry smile and sets the bag down against the wall. “Don’t think that means I’m going to take it easy on you.”
“Who are you going to call?” My voice is hoarse, exposing my weakness, but I have to know. “The cops? Or Ivan?”
“Neither,” he says simply.
Shock is a cold rush from my heart to my toes. I know what some men in his position would do. Most men, really. They would take advantage. I’m about to be in a vulnerable position. I’ll be at his mercy. He could touch me. He could fuck me. And no one would believe me—or even care.
I never thought he would do that to me. He wouldn’t…
Would he? I can’t be sure.
The sound of duct tape ripping from the roll snaps my attention to him. He places it over my wrist, smoothing the silver tape along the butter-soft leather. He’s taping me to the chair.
It’s over my black long-sleeved T-shirt, but tight enough that I can’t wriggle free.
He pulls another piece of tape out. “So what was it?” he asks almost conversationally. “Drugs? Gambling?”
My lips tighten. I hate for West to think of me like that, that I would have gotten myself into this mess. Maisie and Jeb are the ones crazy enough to steal from the fucking mafia.
But in another way I did get myself into this. I went along with this plan even though it was too soon.
Even though it’s wrong.
Even though it’s immoral and screws over the very people who have been my friends the past few months. That’s why I’ll never get to be with West, why I’ll never deserve him. I could dream of his strong hands and whispered words. I could imagine my silver-blonde hair over his dark chocolate skin as I worked my way down his body. And that’s all I’ll ever have—those dirty-sweet dreams.
We would have been beautiful together.
I can’t ruin him like this. “You don’t want to do this,” I whisper.
He smooths the last piece of tape over the chair, locking me in. “Do what?”
“Touch me.” He would hate himself after. He isn’t that kind of man. I wasn’t wrong about him. I may have pushed him into doing something drastic with my mixed signals and then breaking in here. But if he touches me like this, while I’m tied up, he’ll only hate himself later.
A short laugh. “I want to do a lot more than touch you, Bianca. And I think I’ve earned that right, don’t you?”
There’s a lump in my throat. “Not like this. Not while I’m tied up.”
Are you sure about that, Bee? Didn’t you taunt him for being too good? Now he’s offering to be bad. The voice in my head sounds too much like Maisie for comfort.
He runs a dark finger down my cheek. “There’s no better time. Now you can’t run away.”
With every word, the room seems to shrink, the bonds seem to get tighter. The air seems to get sucked out of the basement. There’s nothing here but me and him, floating in a black void. No escape.
My fists tighten, and I tug against the tape. Nothing happens. “You can’t do this.”
His smile is hard, but his words are gentle. “How are you going to stop me?”
“West, please.” I don’t know why I’m fighting so hard, why I’m near tears. I never expected him to take advantage of me. I’m supposed to be tougher than this. I’ve been messed with on a con before. I know how to endure things. But it’s worse with him.
“And you know what else?” he asks, studying me. “I think you’ll like it.”
My body grows warm—humiliation? Fear? There’s something else too. Something hot and sensual, because I want West. I’ve always wanted him. And now it looks like I’ll have him.
He stands and pulls his phone out. “It’s me. Send it down.”