owe me a clue about the money, Damon.”
I lift one brow, clicking my tongue as I do. “You came, Ashley. You lost the game. You don’t get anything this time.”
To my surprise, for a brief instant, I see genuine fear flash across her face. It’s gone, almost before I can register it, replaced by fury. She surges to her feet and yanks her skirt down, about to dart for the door. “Fuck you. Fuck you and your goddamn games too,” she snaps.
Then I remember. Her father. The man she’s answering to for all of this. The man who stopped at nothing to get me thrown in here—who thought nothing of mowing down any innocents in his path. Yes, she’s his daughter, but so what? After what I’ve seen Mauricio Marrón do, I wouldn’t put it past him to hurt her too, in the pursuit of his goals.
If she goes back to him with nothing, after all this, what will he do to her?
That’s not your problem, Damon, my inner voice tries to tell me. I’m being a soft-hearted moron. I probably am. But looking at her right now, half a mess because of me, I can’t help it.
“Ashley.” The soft tone of my voice makes her pause and turn her face toward mine. “I must be developing a soft spot for my fiancée,” I mutter, shaking my head. “Because I do have a tip for you.”
She pauses. I can see the careful calculation on her face, as she tries to conceal her surprise and whatever else she might be feeling right now. I don’t blame her. Not for any of it. “Okay,” she finally replies, voice even as possible.
“The money is still nearby. In this state, in the same county where it was stolen.”
She searches my gaze for a long moment. Probably trying to gauge whether I’m telling the truth. She must finally decide that I am, because a faint smile touches her lips. “Okay,” she repeats, but this time it’s softer, without the aggression and anger and fear her voice had in it before.
I never noticed, until just this moment, what a beautiful voice she has. How nice it sounds when she talks like this, like a real person. My chest aches, a stabbing pain right between my ribcage and… fuck.
Fuck.
I cannot start feeling anything for this girl.
A knock pounds on the door.
Has it really been an hour already?
“Time’s up,” the guard announces as he undoes the lock without further ceremony. Neither Ashley nor I say anything this time. We just watch each other, eyes locked, for as long as we can, until the guard slams the doors between us.
I’m in trouble.
4
My legs shake as I exit the prison. It’s all I can do to stay upright on my heels. Especially when every few steps I have to pause and clench my thighs together—without any panties on, in this tight as hell skirt, it’s going to become very obvious very fast to any passersby if my own juices start dripping down my legs. Which they’ve been doing ever since Damon—fucking Damon, that bastard—got me so turned on I can barely think straight.
I’ve never come like that before. That orgasm made my whole body feel high, and even now, almost half an hour later, I can still feel leftover shocks every now and then, jolting through my nervous system.
My cheeks are on fire as the guards smirk to one another and wave me through the outer gate of the prison. Do they know? They must be able to tell. I’m sure it’s written all over my face—that post-sex glow that I can’t ever hide. Not to mention the way I’m walking, with my legs half-pressed together, trying to contain as much of the evidence as possible.
Fuck.
I’ve never been so turned-on in my life. That orgasm left me shaking, and yet, I want nothing more than to turn around and run straight back into this prison to beg him for another one.
What kind of negotiator am I? I broke at the first damn test he put me to. Part of me knew—especially after last time, after seeing Damon and feeling the way my body was so instantly, insanely drawn to his—that this could happen. But I had no idea it would happen this fast, this dirty, or that I’d feel so damn… addicted, already.
I square my shoulders and ball up my fists. It doesn’t matter. At least I got something out of this encounter, even if it’s less than I would