my door, all gentlemanlike, which blew my mind after the way he’d been sexually.”
“He spanked you?” Pete raised his brows. “I did not see that one coming. Pun intended.”
“Yep.” My ass still burned. I’d gotten a glimpse of what sex would be like with Sevastyan.
Earth-shattering. Filthy. Baffling.
Pete snapped his fingers. “Now that I think of it, I’ve overheard some jokes and innuendo about BDSM from the Sevastyan couples.”
Natalie and Lucía just didn’t seem like the type.
“Did you like it?” Karin asked. “I didn’t think your tastes ran that way.”
“It’s not my bag,” I said, even though I’d gotten off on being whipped.
Karin tilted her head. “Luckily, you won’t have to deal with his penchant for very long.”
Because I only had so much time to fleece the man.
I’d once been asked if I felt guilty conning people. Nope. You have to play to pay. Behave yourself, and you’ll never know my family exists. We targeted those who could never report a con to the police—because of their own dirty deeds.
So what had Dmitri done to deserve me? What if he was a little crazy—and a lot vulnerable? I kept replaying how he’d leaned into my touch for comfort. He’d already been burned in his life and still bore the scars.
Maybe Pete’s initial instinct to cut that family had been right on. “I’ve been thinking about tomorrow night,” I said to no one in particular. “About the congressman.”
Blackmailing him could be the family’s largest score yet. Badger games were like grifter annuities; they paid for life, and sometimes even appreciated if the mark made it big.
The congressman could be a presidential hopeful. We wished him all the best in his future campaigns.
Unfortunately, Karin would have to turn over the big payout from that asshole to service our debt.
Her blond brows drew together. “What about him?”
Benji perked up too. He was instrumental in badgers. He’d earned his nickname “the Eye” from his remarkable camera work.
“My string of bad luck, or whatever, seems to be over.” I got up, knocked on the wood of my desk, then returned. “If I start roping guys and you bag the congressman, maybe we . . . shouldn’t run Dmitri.”
“What?” the three exclaimed in unison.
I played with the sash on my robe. “We might be able to scrounge up enough if Mom and Dad make good on their art scam. And Nigel could reconnect. Plus there’s the watch I lifted.” From a genuinely nice woman. If I felt this shitty about that, I couldn’t imagine what playing with Dmitri’s feelings would do to me.
In a scandalized tone, Karin said, “You like him.”
“Or maybe I’m thinking about our own rules? No sins, no in. We have a code, remember?” In all my life, we’d never broken it. “What has the Russian done to merit a financial punishment and a helping of pain? We prey on vulnerabilities, not the vulnerable.”
Benji scratched his head. “Why would you consider a brilliant and handsome BDSM billionaire vulnerable?”
“Call it grift sense.”
“He simply hasn’t shown you his sins yet,” Karin said, disturbingly confident. “Give him time. Sins always out. I guarantee he’s part of the ninety-seven percent.”
Like the father of her kid?
She was right. I knew better. You’d think I would’ve learned after all the lying, two-timing scrotes I’d encountered in the grift. Hell, my own ex-fiancé should’ve taught me.
“The point is moot anyway.” Karin sighed. “Dmitri could be pure as driven snow, and we’d still have to target him. Hon, think of the alternative.”
Three months ago, we’d swindled a drug-trafficking couple from overseas for a cool million, our largest take to date. We’d spent ages doing foundation work, yet no amount of research would’ve revealed that the woman was an untouchable. The lovechild of a cartel kingpin.
In lieu of an outright execution, the man had allowed us to repay the score in full—while owing six million in interest.
Karin had banked one and a half of it with her nonstop badgers. My parents’ art scheme might net us five hundred. I would contribute two fifty. We had less than three weeks left to pull together the rest.
If we failed . . . That kingpin enjoyed necklacing: shoving a gasoline-soaked tire around a victim’s chest and arms, then lighting it on fire. He’d threatened to do that to the primary on the con—my dad.
Pete said, “Vice, it’s life or death. You have to break the code.”
Dad was the bighearted rock of the family, nicknamed Gentleman Joe because he could mingle with the upper crust—but also because