“You confuse bitterness with disinterest. It’s no fun when you’re desperate.”
That punch hit a little harder than hits to the wall, and I feel compelled to rub the ache in my ribs, but I refuse to show him any reaction. I can play this game, too. In fact, I’m as much a hustler when it comes to men, as he is at playing that stupid card game.
Chin angled high, I trail after him, out of the room, down the staircase, and saunter past where he stands waiting in the foyer. “I’m not desperate, number one. And number two, I’d rather sleep in my truck, anyway. You probably snore like a bear.”
“There’d be no sleeping with you in my bed, chère,” he says after me, and I have to mentally stifle the shiver that winds down my spine.
“All the more reason for me to decline. I need my beauty rest. Fucking all night is bad for the complexion, in case you cared to know.”
Running a thumb over those disgustingly kissable lips, he stares at me with only a hint of amusement in his eyes. “I’ll see you outside.”
Stubborn, this one. He probably doesn’t want to tell me that he’s already got another female lined up for the sack, and I’m just the irritating errand he has to run first.
Speaking of which, who the hell sent him? Why him? Who is he to these bad men he mentioned?
I wish I could say that this little reality check was a complete turn off to me, but hello catnip, meet kitten. Confirming his bad streak only serves to check another one of my boxes. This attraction to the morally corrupt types is probably a medical condition listed in some thick psychobabble book somewhere. But for me? It’s a big juicy carrot dangling from a stick.
Who knows why. Probably daddy issues.
With so many questions to answer, my head swirls as I sneak back to the reading room and haphazardly pile all the stuff I swiped from the secret room into my sleeping bag. I’m surely not leaving it here, if the place is run by cartel, or mafia, or whoever had his eyebrows kicked up like I was on track with my guesses. After stuffing it all into the bag, I zip it up and hoist it over my shoulder, carrying it back through the hole in the wall like some kind of thieving Santa Claus.
19
Thierry
Fate must be fucking with me.
Surely, this girl can’t be the trespasser Julio had me come out to investigate. What would he want with some young homeless girl who clearly doesn’t have her shit together? She’s about as threatening as a mewling kitten caught in a storm drain.
I lift the burner phone to my ear, and for whatever reason, my muscles tense at the sound of Julio’s, “Hello.”
“Searched the whole house. There’s nothing. Whoever was here must’ve skipped town.”
“Empty? No half-naked girl walking around?”
So, the girl did land on his radar. Shame.
Wish he would’ve mentioned that little detail earlier in the evening, and I might not’ve felt slapped upside the head when I realized it was her. Still, the lie is already in play. Can’t go back on it now. “Think I would’ve taken notice of that. Aside from some empty chip bags and some mice, no. Not a trace of any girl.”
“What a waste sending you there. My apologies, amigo. People get worked up over nothing, sometimes.”
I watch her exit the house, wearing low cut shorts and a clingy tank that shows off pert nipples. Not exactly nothing.
“De nada. If it puts your mind at ease,” and keeps you off my back, “I’m happy to do it.”
“Ah, good. I’ll let you get back to your evening. My flight takes off in about twenty minutes. I’ll have Aric swing by there in a few days. Just to be sure no one comes back.”
His comment peels my attention from those toned thighs, and I frown at the implication. The dirty fed? “If you’re concerned about something, or someone, I’ll check back again.”
“No, no. I should’ve sent Aric in the first place. I just don’t trust him as much as you, but you have more important things on your plate right now.”
It’s a good thing he didn’t send Aric. I saw the way he was eyeing her earlier in the night, during the card game. In an effort to play nice, I look the other way when he hooks up with the occasional dancer from Saints,