The surprise of having my last name called out from inside the car is enough to stop me in my tracks. And it’s all he needs. As I’m swinging my head around to get a good look at him through the open window, he’s opening the back door from inside and springing out of the car. I don’t have time to do anything more than suck in a deep breath, preparing to scream, before his hand clamps over my mouth and I’m helpless against a pair of arms that are more like steel bands.
Before I know it, he’s thrown me into the backseat and joined me, slamming the door and barking at the driver to get moving. By the time I work myself into a sitting position, we’re already on our way. I back myself against the door, desperate to put space between me and the bruiser next to me. He’s handsome in a dark, dangerous sort of way and looks like he spends half his life lifting weights.
“I wouldn’t scream if I were you,” my kidnapper warns in a deadly murmur. “You wouldn’t be the first person I’ve hurt today. A friend of yours recommended you to us, and I’m taking you to an interview.”
“A friend of mine? What are you talking about? What interview? Who are you?”
Rather than answer, he surprises me again by reaching down, grabbing hold of my calf and yanking my leg into the air so he can stare at my ankle. “Tattoo on the right ankle. You’re the girl.”
Tattoo on my ankle. And he knows my last name. He picked me up outside Deanna’s building.
Holy shit. This guy thinks I’m my sister.
And I have no idea where we’re going—or whether I should fess up.
Chapter Three - Luca
I expected Jock to bring me my prize. Despite what I said to Jimmy back when Jimmy was still alive earlier today, there is at least one person I trust. Jock does whatever it takes to get the job done.
I expected Deanna Jones to arrive in due time.
I did not, however, expect the effect she has on me from the second she steps into my office. Like an express train blasting through the door, slamming into me.
Once again, I have to ask myself what the hell this girl was doing with a loser like the one who handed her over. She’s dressed in nothing fancier than a thin cotton T-shirt and a pair of cut-off jean shorts, but I’ve seen women wearing dresses they bragged were fresh off the runway who didn’t look half as tempting as the woman before me.
The apprehension in her eyes only makes her more appealing. I doubt Jock told her anything about what she was headed for. I’m sure any number of unsavory scenarios are running through her head as she crosses the room, a pair of sneakers muffling the sound of her footsteps. Her body language screams fear, panic. Her plump bottom lip disappears beneath even, white teeth.
That small gesture is enough to unleash a slew of dark fantasies. I can’t help but wonder what those lips would feel like sliding up and down my shaft. If this interview goes well, I won’t have to wait long to find out.
And it will. She has no choice in the matter.
“Miss Jones. Please, have a seat.” I stand, buttoning my jacket before gesturing to the club chairs facing my desk. “Would you like something to drink?”
She lowers herself into one of the chairs, her eyes darting back and forth as she takes in the room around her. It’s an impressive space, left much the way my father kept it in his time. I’ve modernized things some—for instance, the MacBook on the desk. Dad hated computers. I suppose I can understand why, since it’s a lot more difficult to clean up a digital trail than it is a paper one. Then again, he was usually careful to avoid even talking on the phone, much less doing business on paper.
When she doesn’t answer my question about the drink, I have Jock bring her a glass of water while I study her from all angles. She’s beautiful now, but with the right clothes, hair, and makeup? She could command five figures a night, easy. Even more for a weekend.
She accepts the water, but lowers the glass to her leg rather than raising it to her delicious mouth. I notice the water vibrating, like either her leg or hand or both are shaking. “I’m sorry,” she whispers before clearing her throat and trying again. “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand why I’m here.”
“Of course. I’m sure this must’ve come as a surprise.” I jerk my chin in Jock’s direction, which he takes as a sign to leave us alone. He’ll wait outside the door as he always does, but I doubt this girl would pose much of a threat.
Me, on the other hand? I’m the Big Bad Wolf, and I’ve spotted my next meal. I have to try her out, after all. Make sure she’s worth the investment.
“So why am I here? What do you want from me?” Her voice is sweet, low, rich. I want to hear my name tumbling from her lips as she throws her head back in ecstasy. I want to hear her moan it, whisper it. Scream it.
Damn. I’ve been too long without a woman if she’s affecting me this way. When was the last time I got laid? I can’t remember. It’s been a long, complicated year. A few deep breaths clear my head and cool my overheated thoughts.
“It’s pretty simple.” I take a seat on the edge of the desk, noting the way she seems to shrink back from my presence. She’s going to have to get used to hiding her apprehension, and fast. She’s been out of the life for a while, but I’m sure those old instincts will kick in when required. “Your boyfriend owes me a lot of money, money he can’t repay. Instead of offering cash repayment, he offered you.”
It’s interesting, watching her process this. I’ve wondered ever since Jock left to hunt her down how she would react to the news. To her boyfriend’s betrayal, ex or not. What would she do? Scream? Beg? Curse him out and offer to kill him for me? Frankly, I wouldn’t have blamed her for any of it.
Yet she doesn’t do any of those things. Her hand tightens around the glass instead, to the point where her knuckles stand out bone-white under her skin. A muscle twitches in her cheek, and her eyes narrow. “Did he? And how much money does he owe you?”
“Roughly a hundred grand.”
Again, she surprises me. Rather than going wide in shock, her eyes narrow further. “So he was betting with you and lost big? What, was it college basketball?”
“You’re pretty smart.” I can’t help but chuckle. “What were you doing with him, by the way? He’s a waste of perfectly good bodily organs. A real, worthwhile person would make better use of them.”