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My heartbeat is the loudest thing in the room as I straighten up, and look at the door, and the windows, and then the computer.
It feels almost anti-climatic, and a few minutes later when the door swings open, I’m back on the couch, shaking from the night’s events, and from having successfully executed the first part of my plan. As Heather comes in with a fat packet of cash in an envelope for me, a thank you from the big boss as she says it’s not hard for me to burst into grateful tears.
The key-logger works both ways, the Viper had said. When he logs in to see what’s been recorded, the key-logger will ping, and send a message back. He’ll know I kept up my part of the deal. And now I just have to stick it out for the next few weeks, and then? Home free. I should almost thank that asshole who grabbed me. He saved me a lot of work and problems tonight, but some small part of me can’t get the vision out of my head of the guy who came running to my rescue.
His dark eyes, narrowed in righteous fury, are going to haunt me for a long damn time.
CHAPTER 5
luca
I’m sitting at the kitchen counter in the penthouse, staring down at the phone in front of me, tapping on the marble surface, the clink of my pinky ring against it the only sound in the room. Dani walks by, glancing at the phone, and then at me, as if to ask if I’m okay.
I don’t know. I’ve never done this before.
I’ve never wanted to do this before.
Dani walks into the kitchen, grabbing an apple and a knife, and then pauses, and looks back at me, a sly expression crossing her face.
"You should take her flowers," she says, "she likes tulips." I freeze and lift my chin to look at her.
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
"Your stripper girl," she says, leaning forward on the kitchen island. Dani comes and goes as she pleases in my home, even though she’s got a place of her own. She’s also not afraid of me, which is both frustrating and annoying, and a little endearing. She’s like an annoying house-cat, although if I ever told her that to her face, she’d probably be pleased. "Heather told me allllll about that. How’s the hand? You have goons for that. You can’t be parading around with split knuckles." She’s not really scolding me, just reminding me of my place in things.
I’m the lynchpin, the king, and she’s right. I shouldn’t be getting my hands dirty.
But the look on her face... the sheer panic, it wrenched something inside of me, woke something up that I thought had been dead a long damn time.
I fucking hate it.
"And," she continues, slicing the top off the apple and cutting it into neat slices, "you should get her some tulips. She’s a little bit romantic."
"How the fuck do you know what she is?" I ask, "how do you know anything about her?"
"Heather runs backgrounds on every girl in the club. She’s living in some shithole a few blocks from Cascade, barely meets code. But she grows flowers on the roof, and she always gives money to the guy who lives in the dumpster out back. Her name’s Ashley Morrow." Dani takes a bite of apple and smirks at me as I get up from the table, my body taking me before I can even think about it. "And Heather says you’re not allowed back at Cascade until?—"
My front door slamming cuts her off, and I hit the call button for the elevator. I need to get the hell out of here.
Ashley, huh? I roll the name around in my head, and my jaw clenches. It’s a good name. Morrow. Not Italian. English, probably means something about the future, or tomorrow. Something like that. The elevator slides open, and I step in, stabbing the button for the garage.
The doors close behind me.
Ashley.
That’s a problem, and she’s going to be one soon. Because I can’t stop thinking about her. Three nights I’ve gone to sleep, the look on her face when that man grabbed her, invading my dreams. I’m distracted, something that someone in my position can never be. And I know just how to make it go away.
Ashley Morrow. Lives in a shithole apartment a few blocks away from Cascade. Down on her luck, as Heather had put it? Then she’ll need something, something I can give her.
I’m about to do something I never do.
I’m about to fuck in my own backyard.
It’s a bad idea. But I don’t care, not right now.
I walk through the underground parking garage, and into the side door. A man steps forward, a gun at his hip, and a look of concern on his face. When he sees it’s me, he calms down, going right to my favorite car, the Aventador, but I shake my head. He raises his eyebrows and follows my gaze to the Bentley. The Phantom is built more for comfort, at least more than the Lambo. And I want Ashley Morrow to be comfortable when I go down on her in the back until she’s screaming and breathless.
I want her to come.
