It feels strange to lie with my pants down in a place that’s not a bedroom, especially when the place is someone’s workplace—like a doctor’s office, or a tattoo-slash-piercing shop.

I don’t mind it when it’s a sexual situation because I’m usually too caught up in what’s being done to me to pay attention to my surroundings.

But when I’m just waiting, like I am now . . . it feels weird.

My eyes find a blue towel on Luca’s table. Looks like there’s a bunch of things under it, but I can use that cover myself while I wait for him to come back.

I prop myself up on my elbows and try to grab the towel. It’s a reach, but I manage to hold on to one of the corners.

When I pull on the soft fabric, it gives more resistance than I expected, and some things from the table fall to the floor with a loud crash.

“Are you okay?” Luca asks immediately, yelling from the other end of the parlor.

The worry in his voice floods my chest with warmth. He does care about me. The only question is . . . does he care enough to want me to stay by his side? Does he want me enough to erase the expiry date on our arrangement?

“Yeah, I’m fine, Luca,” I say.

Technically, that’s correct because I’m perfectly okay physically. Even when Luca spanks me or leaves a mark on me, my body’s always been fine.

Inwardly, though, with every cruel smack he gives me in the bedroom and with every kind remark he makes outside of the bedroom, I grow anxious. Everything he does makes me want him more and more. I don’t think that’s smart.

I almost scoff to myself. “Smart.” As if I normally make good decisions. Honestly, I can’t blame my bad decisions on Luca. I’m pretty good at screwing up on my own.

The leather on the surface of the tattoo table sticks to my butt. It drags when I hop off the table. I grab the towel and wrap it around my waist before I crouch down on the floor to pick up the things I dropped.

I pick up an open sketchbook on the floor. It has pages upon pages of Luca’s drawings—I wonder if these are tattoo designs ordered by his clients or his own work.

These sketches are dark. Lots of shadowy blacks and bloody reds. But they’re beautiful, too. I can’t take my eyes off them. They’re just so Luca.

I put the sketchbook on the desk. I’ll ask Luca if I can look through the book again later, after the piercing’s done.

My heart races at the thought of a sharp needle breaking my skin, stabbing through the hood of my clitoris, and pushing through to the other side.

Still sensitive from the oral attention I just got from Luca, my pussy grows wet.

It’s going to be painful, and it’s going to please Luca. This is literally hotter than my dirtiest fantasies.

Aside from loose pages of Luca’s drawings, there’s a black backpack on the floor. When I pull it up by one of the straps, items drop out it and onto the floor.

Ugh. I’m so clumsy today.

The bag must be unzipped.

I carefully put the bag on the desk so it doesn’t spill any more of its contents. I start to crouch down again, but then I catch a glimpse of something familiar in the bag.

Without even thinking, I reach inside and take out a pill bottle. And not just a pill bottle. These are the kind of veterinary pills that a lot of people are after—people like drug addicts and dealers.

And, in this quantity? I peek into the bag to find another bottle. There are more bottles scattered all over the floor from when I picked up the backpack.

With hundreds of pills in each bottle, this entire stash is easily worth six figures in the black market.

What the hell is Luca up to?

Why does he have all these drugs? Is he still selling? This is not the amount he’d have if he were only a user, unless he’s an extremely heavy user who’s hoarding his fix for the next few months.

But I don’t see signs of addiction in Luca. As far as I can tell, both his mind and his speech are perfectly clear.

Which means . . . he must be selling.

Jesus, Luca, do you really want to go back to prison that badly?

I can’t believe Mom was right after all—Luca is still a dealer.

The good news is, at least he hasn’t tried to get me to try one of these.

Although . . . how did he get these in the first place? These are veterinary drugs. Seems like a big coincidence that he’d specifically have these drugs.

I check the code printed on the side of the bottle. Peter must’ve kept a database of all the drugs in stock at the clinic. I can compare this code—and all the other codes on all the other bottles—against the ones on that database.

And if they match . . . that means Luca stole from me.

I take out my phone, make sure it’s silent, and take pictures of all the codes on all the bottles.

I put everything back on the desk, careful not to shake the pill bottles too much because the rattling could tip Luca off. I’m lucky enough he hasn’t come back yet to see me holding one of the bottles in my hand.

I put everything back on the table, the towel draped over the sketchbook, the backpack, and the loose pages of Luca’s drawings. Those dark shadows in his sketches have taken on a new, more sinister meaning.

I wonder what Luca does in the dark when I don’t see him.

I step back and take a good look at the desk. Everything looks normal, as far as I can tell. Pretty much the way it was before I pulled on that towel and found signs of betrayal underneath it.

When Luca comes back into the screened area of the tattoo parlor, I’m already zipping up my jeans.

“I left something at the clinic,” I say. “I have to go back and get it.”

“Now?” Luca frowns. I hope he’s not getting suspicious.

“Yeah. It’s really important.” I stop myself from adding, I may have invited a thief and a drug dealer into my clinic and been robbed.

“I’d go with you—” Luca’s gaze darts to the clock on the wall “—but I have another appointment to get through before I can close up shop.”

“That’s okay. I can go on my own,” I say as I sling my bag on my shoulder.

A smile plays on Luca’s lips. Normally, it would melt my resolve and make me want to stay with him.

But right now, that smile makes me sick, thinking of how he may have been lying to me this whole time.

After his whole protective nice-guy act, it turns out he’s the worst. At least other guys have had the decency to be honest, to not pretend like they cared about me.

“Are you sure you’re not just scared of the pain?” Luca asks.

I ignore his teasing. “I’ll come back later,” I say as I walk out of the shop.

I hear Luca say “see you later” just before the door shuts

And I wonder . . . Next time I see him again, what’s it going to be like?