THEBILLIONAIREANDTHECONARTIST

BADGIRLSSERIES

LEANNEBRICE

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Neither the author nor publisher approves of or recommends behavior carried

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- Leanne

S Y N O P S I S

She could have been the one ... until she ran off with all his cash!

XEL

Meeting April Sumner during a weekend in Vegas? My lucky day.

I don’t date. I would make an exception for April, though—she’s the kind of girl

I’d marry.

Of course, I don’t feel quite as confident once she runs off with all my cash…

PRIL

He’s handsome, he’s loaded, and he’ll be my amusement for the night.

Axel Addison is the perfect target: an unsuspecting bad boy who thinks I only

want him for his looks.

But I like pretty things. And Axel Addison’s money will pay for them!

Let the games begin…

he Billionaire and the Con Artist is a light and fun, steamy bad boy billionaire

read that touches on a few disturbing themes.

A fool and his money are soon parted.

P R O L O G U E

A P R I L

guess I’m probably going to die, I thought as I sat shivering next to the garbage

bin I just checked for food, knees pulled up to my chest, my skinny arms wrapped

around them.

Maybe I should have just stayed. It wasn’t so bad, was it?

A brief warmth passed through me at the memory of what it was like to be inside

a cozy house, to have a consistent place to go home to every day. A familiar room.

The bedroom was all mine too—I didn’t have to share my clothes or desk or

anything.

I had a solid roof over my head, at least two square meals a day.

I could easily grab blankets if it got too cold, turn on a fan if it got too warm.

I had quick, easy access to snacks...

I remembered my foster father and shivered again, this time, not from the

blistering cold.

I hadn’t thought about where I’d go, what I’d do once I fled my foster home—I

only knew I had to get out of there.

And now, after living on the streets, sneaking into buildings and sleeping on

hard floors, subsisting on shoplifting and scraps, I wondered if it was a wise

decision.

I had pretty much all I needed in that house. They hadn’t even beaten me!

Sure, my foster mom didn’t believe me or care about the night visits from my

foster dad, but she had cared about making sure I was fed. That I had pencils and

books for school.

This is so stupid, I thought, pulling my knees tighter as I tried to keep myself

warm. It really shouldn’t rain on Christmas Day.

I wondered if it had rained the year before and I just hadn’t noticed because I was

too busy opening presents, and I cursed myself from fleeing a good thing once

again.

“Hey,” a voice breezed in, lightly penetrating my miserable fog.

I was sure I was hearing things when the voice drifted over to me, or at least sure

it wasn’t being directed at me if it was real.

Since becoming a drifter, I realized I had become sort of invisible to the general

public, an unremarkable part of the scenery.

No one tended to notice me, despite the fact that I was practically a child and

obviously very alone.

I mean, a child to them—I was fifteen years old, pretty much a grown woman.

"Hey, kid," I heard the feminine voice say again, and I looked up to find an

actual woman staring at me, one who looked very real and not like a hunger-

induced apparition at all.

One who wasn’t that old, but certainly wasn’t young like me.

In her twenties, maybe?

I couldn’t really tell.

People came in stark categories to me—kid, almost-adult, adult, and ancient.

The woman wasn’t a kid or almost-adult, and she certainly wasn’t ancient, so as

far as I was concerned, she could be anywhere between twenty and forty.

She had light brownish eyes, dark hair and a facial scar that made it even harder

to guess her age, but she was still pretty.

"You must be so cold," the woman said sympathetically. "And hungry. I can

help you. Let’s get you warm and fed and cozy. Come with me."

The woman straightened up and extended her hand, smiling maternally.

I stared at the woman’s hand for a moment before taking it, never actually

considering not going with her, of course—just momentarily trapped in disbelief

that someone was actually reaching out to me. Someone wanted to help me!

I didn’t know this woman from Adam, but I just knew this kind stranger could

help me stay alive.

The hazel-eyed woman would keep me safe.

PARTI

LAYINGPLANS

If you must play, decide upon three things at the

start: the rules of the game, the stakes, and the

quitting time.

— C H I N E S E P R O V E R B

C H A P T E R 1

A P R I L

5 years later…

take a deep breath as I exit my unremarkable, gray-stoned apartment building,

unsure whether I’ll ever return to it or not.

I told my roommate I was going home to Nebraska for a few days—a total lie, of

course.

I learned long ago it’s rarely beneficial to be upfront; in fact, the truth can and

will work against you at every opportunity.

My roommate doesn’t need to know my true destination—if anyone comes

looking for me for whatever reason, he’ll just end up sending them on a wild goose

chase.

Haha! Nebraska.

It’s my own personal little joke.

Anyway, he got last month’s rent from me, and I haven’t left a mess or anything

behind so he’ll be fine if I never come back—I paid him upfront in cash for four

months, first and last.

I just never wanted him to know my real name.

My sob story convinced him that I was in dire straits, a sympathetic figure that

he was happy to take in, barely able to contain his surprise that a girl like me took

up his Craigslist offer.

Once we met, it was all good—my assessment of him said I had nothing to fear

of the shy-looking, pudgy nerd, and he was even more convinced of my damsel-in-

distress state once he took in my petite, youthful form and the lost puppy eyes I

gave him.

Plus being faced with a lot of cash can magically stop people from asking too

many questions. Especially guys; girls tend to be way nosier.

The cash was courtesy of a GoFundMe campaign, by the way.

Look, if someone can raise tens of thousands of dollars on Kickstarter to make a

bowl of potato salad, anything goes when it comes to crowdfunding, and you would

not believe how many guys are supportive of boob jobs.

Thanks, pervy Good Samaritans!

I have no intention of getting a boob job, though, despite my fabricated A-cup

sob story.

I did send my biggest backers a photo of a sexy nude rack so they could be happy

they helped out a poor flat-chested young girl in need and jack off to the thought of

their generosity and the lewd visual for infinity.

The before and after photos were more than easy to obtain, and anyway, none of

it matters, ultimately—I got what I wanted, they got what they needed.

People love easy ways of feeling good about themselves, and I’m more than

happy to give it to them.

My current trip is being funded by bleeding heart animal lovers who can’t resist

the photo of a pretty young blond girl crying over her sick dog.

Thanks, stock photos!

I can’t just rely on GoFundMe and Kickstarters, of course—especially since it’s

best to keep it moving; I’ll leave too many traces tapping the same pool.

I continue toward the bus stop, everything that matters to me in my nondescript

backpack, but I halt in my tracks as an unexpected wave of joy and relief washes

over me at the sight of a familiar ‘face.’

I watch Lorax as he (or she? I never figured it out) scuttles his fat body toward

the nearest garbage bin, a large piece of donut in its tiny rodent jaws.

I recognize the rat by his sheer size at first—he’s practically the size of a cat—

and then confirm identity by the dent in his tail.

I named him Lorax after the character in some book one of my foster moms read

me when I was twelve.

Yes, I’m aware it’s a kids book below what should have been my reading level

then, but I was only just learning to read at the time—my biological mom had

home-schooled me, leaving out the whole literacy part, and then one day, she

dropped me off at some fire station and I haven’t seen her since.

Oh, that’s where Nebraska comes in—the state had a Safe-haven law at the

time, allowing people to drop off any kid under eighteen, so my mom got in there

before they were all, Whoops! Didn’t really mean for a bunch of toddlers, tweens,

and teens to get legally abandoned.

The funny thing is, we weren’t even from there—she drove all the way there to

do it.

But hey, when opportunity knocks, you better goddamn answer, am I right?

Anyway, the law soon changed to specify that only babies under a month could

be given up, but by then, I had been returned to my state of origin to become a ward

of that state, and the rest, as they say, is history.

Now that I’m heading to Vegas for the first time, immediate future unclear, I’m

happy for the chance to say goodbye to Lorax—it gives me some sort of closure on

this chapter of my life.

I suppose I’ve come to think of him as a pet I keep on a very long invisible leash.

“Maybe I’ll see you around,” I say affectionately to him before continuing my

path to the bus stop.

Trust me—it doesn’t matter if someone notices I’m not actually talking to a

person, or even if they realize I’m talking to a rat.

This is Los Angeles—you wouldn’t believe how many people are here talking to

themselves, blue tooth or not; in fact, forget blue tooth and inside voices

accidentally becoming outside ones—with vagrants galore having a grand old time

chatting up the air or a pipe in a wall, nothing to see here.

’m vibrating with excitement as I head to the Downtown L.A. bus station.

It’s like my body is way ahead of my mind—like it senses something major

about to happen, but in a good way, and I’m ready for whatever’s going down.

I think it means I’m going to make a buttload of money and won’t have to worry

about my daily take for a while. I know there’s a huge concentration of potential

marks in Vegas with the tourist turnover and other mega opportunities to score big.

Most people go to Vegas to gamble, right? One way or another—their sex life,

their money, their career. They’re taking a chance.

I suppose that could be true of many other places, but Vegas is the place for

dreams of scoring something huge.

I’m going there to gamble, too—but I don’t take my chances with poker tables

and lever-operated machines.

My phone rings as I pay for my ride, and I know it’s either my best friend Taylor

or spam that managed to find its way to my burner phone.

I answer it on the fourth ring as I settle into my seat.

“What’s up?” I answer, smiling because I recognize the number as Taylor’s after

all.

“Dude, we’re so gonna clean up,” she says to me. “I’m over five thousand

dollars already.”

“Five thousand dollars?” I sort of screech, earning the attention of several

people near me.

I compose myself quickly.

I usually keep my cool pretty easily, but hell—that’s almost a year of rent for the

apartment I shared in L.A.! Not that I’d actually stay there a year.

I’m hoping this Vegas trip gets me out of there and into a better one. With a

damned dishwasher.

“Shit. Yeah, that’s definitely a good start,” I say. “How the hell did you do

that?”

Seriously, Taylor just got there less than half a day ago.

At that rate, the week or so we plan to hang out there could set us up for a year!

Heck, if it continues going that well, we could stay for longer and really start

squirreling away some safety cash somewhere.

“You know me,” she says, “a bit here, a bit there. We’re gonna celebrate the hell

out of your birthday, girl. I can’t wait to see you. Love you.”

My excitement soars.

Taylor is like the big sister I never had.

Pretty much everything I learned about surviving on my own, I learned from her.

She took me under her wing when I was fifteen, and she taught me about

making it out on the streets.

Taylor is my hero.

She once convinced an aged rock star she was one of his illegitimate kids—the

result of some one night stand.

She told him she wanted nothing from him, that she only wanted to see for

herself if she could see any of herself in him, and yet somehow, she still ended up

with a chunk of guilt cash from him.

“I considered milking that cow a little longer but didn’t want to risk the whole

thing unraveling—someone in his circle might insist on a DNA test or something.”

She said she might go back to him at some point—when enough time has passed

that he’d be open to dishing out some more—but she probably won’t; Taylor keeps

it moving.

I believe that whole thing was just a test run for her anyway—I suspect she has a

major identity con planned.

She won’t run it by me or anything, though—when she’s all set to do

something, she just does it. No need to involve another party who could become a

weak link, a vein to tap.

I get it.

Anyway, I’m stoked Taylor thinks I’m ready to work Vegas with her; she’s a

master.

I doubt Taylor’s her real name but I’m not even gonna try to get that one out of

her.

She never even told me her real birthday.

She said January first eventually, but I don’t think that’s true. Not that people

aren’t born on January first, obviously—it just sounds like something you tell

someone who insists they should know something about you that you disagree they

should know.

Taylor is determined to bury her past, and trust me, I totally understand the

need to leave all traces of the previous you behind once you’ve decided to become

something else.

Still, I’ve known her for five years, and she refuses to let me throw her a party or

buy her a gift.

All I want to do is thank her for all she’s done for me.

I may carry around fake IDs, but I’m celebrating my real birthday this weekend,

and since it’s clear Taylor won’t give me her real birth date, I’ll just share mine with

hers.

No way I’m waiting for January first to come around again to try to get her

something.

She and I are never around each other around that time anyway—far too many

opportunities abound around New Year’s—people drunk on hope and happiness or

just plain liquor, vulnerable as hell.

We can’t waste that kind of precious time on each other.

But my twenty-first birthday is coming up and it’s time to celebrate.

This trip is the perfect chance to show her how much she means to me, so I’m

getting her a gift too. She’s all I’ve got.

No matter how much I fantasize about reuniting with my mother, or finding a

hot, dedicated guy who accepts all of me and wants to marry me, someone like the

dude I read about in some book I regret reading—part of a stack someone moving

out of an apartment building decided to leave behind—Taylor is all I’ve got, and

perhaps all I’ll ever get.

C H A P T E R 2

A P R I L

t’s midday as I reach Vegas, and I start wondering where Taylor booked us for the

night as I ride to the Strip.

I long to stay in one of the fancier looking places like Aria or Bellagio, but Taylor

will get us somewhere cheap and practical, I’m sure. Somewhere inconspicuous.

Inconspicuousness is pretty much always key.

Taylor told me to call her as soon as I got in, but she hasn’t been answering my

calls and I hadn’t made plans outside of her. I was going to wait till we talked, then

we’d split up or work together, but we were supposed to have a powwow first.

I finally just send her another text then start to wander the Strip like any other

sightseeing tourist, knowing I won’t exactly get lost since I’m sticking to the

boulevard, and the landmarks on it are pretty glaring.

I mean, can I really forget passing the metallic lion in front of MGM Grand? Can

you miss the fake Eiffel Tower of the Paris hotel?

My eyes also scan the crowds out of habit.

So many easy targets here, I hardly know where to start!

A couple of guys with their wallets in stupid places here, a few women who

neglected to close their bags all the way there…

I’m ramped up and ready to go in just about every way, and not because of the

business cards featuring available women for sexy times just handed to me.

I left my apartment so early in the morning that my roommate was nowhere

near getting up, so I left in disguise, and he was none the wiser.

I’m still in my chosen look now—brown wig with headband and bangs, dark

brown contacts to cover my light eyes. I even added a few moles and a fake tattoo

around one wrist.

L.A. is one of those places where it seems everyone and their dog has a tattoo

somewhere so I’ve got a few handy.

Anyway, I look like a completely different person right now.

My roommate and I could have crossed paths as I exited the building and he

wouldn’t have recognized me, despite knowing me for a few months.

It’s amazing what a change of hair and eye color can do.

I walk past a restaurant with outside seating and a couple suddenly catches my

eye. I know the type—wealthy but casual about it. Between the body language and

the small indicators of wealth, I refuse to ignore that nudge in my gut—the one

that says, here’s a valuable, easy mark; it’s worth the risk.

Although this is new territory, a plan starts to form immediately.

I’m glad I cooled my heels a bit—if what I have planned works, I can score big

instead of a bunch of smaller hits.

I know it’s risky since all I know about Vegas is what I read on the net or watched

on YouTube or in bootlegged movies and documentaries, but I think I know enough

to pull this particular act off.

Plus I had plenty of time on the six-hour bus ride to figure a few things out. I

researched Vegas even more on that ride—I rarely jump into something blind;

some degree of casing is always necessary.

My quickie assessment: this older guy has money out the wazoo, a bit arrogant,

probably feels he has the right to do whatever the fuck he wants, including having

chicks on the side.

The woman with him is his wife, scored big marrying him, resigned to her filthy

rich husband doing whatever—or whomever—he wants. No fairy tale kind of love

going on here.

I have no doubt this guy takes mistresses, and his wife takes herself shopping

often and drinks tons of wine.

She’s a bit more obvious about her status with that purse and that necklace, but

even though he’s more plainly attired, he’s the one who really gave them away with

that damned watch.

They’re chatting casually, but there’s a hell of a lot going on beneath the

surface.

Either way, they are both sufficiently distracted, and it seems they’re almost

done with their meal.

The server brings them their check and I whoop on the inside.

I better act fast.

I assess the dress code of the servers and improvise, then sweet-talk my way

into using the restaurant’s bathroom.

Then I head for the couple.

“Can I grab this for you?” I offer as I slip up to them, indicating the check and

the credit card while hoping my makeshift napkin-apron doesn’t fall off.

I’ve done this part before in L.A.

I walked around certain areas and noticed what the servers were wearing,

particularly in the businesses that have an outside seating area.

I knew one well enough to slip inside, my true features disguised, fold a napkin

over my all-black attire, just at the waist, and help out the couple I noticed were

almost done, distracted a little by the argument they were having and trying to

make it appear as if they weren’t having.

People give themselves away in so many ways, verbally, non-verbally—strained

faces, folded arms, dirty shoes, expensive-looking watch…

There’s a slight nod as the couple continues talking to each other in deliberately

even tones.

“And are you staying at the hotel? I can put this on your player’s card,” I say in

my best server voice.

They sort of nod and wave me away.

I notice their ticket has a dessert on it which hasn’t arrived yet, so I know I still

have a bit of time.

I take off with the cards, discreetly removing the napkin from my waist as I head

to the cashier.

“Can I just pay now? I really have to go,” I say with a bit of whine in my voice,

trying to look like I’m being as polite as I can while feeling impatient.

“Certainly,” he says, then runs the card.

I collect the receipts and cards and head straight to the hotel counter as fast as I

can.

I pick the shortest line and it’s being headed by a plain girl with dirty blond hair

pulled back into a bun.

“We need to add another room,” I tell her quietly, sliding her the cards.

“And some discretion needs to be involved,” I add, lowering my voice and giving

her a pointed look. “So perhaps a different floor. Preferably facing the strip. I’m

here as a guest of Mr. Bullock. And only Mr. Bullock,” I say with an edge, accenting

my words with a slight toss of my hair as if I’m slowly ramping up my girly wiles to

use later.

I can tell she’s trying not to look judgmental.

But she’s a professional and I can see her trying to work something out as she

fixes her brown eyes on the screen, studying it intensely before relaxing a bit.

She says something reassuring to herself under her breath then looks back at me

with a bright smile.

“Here are your cards, and here are the key cards for your room. Right beneath

Mr. Bullock’s.”

Is she being a bit snarky? Whatever.

“Thank you,” I say like the unashamed fake mistress I am.

I’m guessing the booking won’t show up anywhere, at least nowhere Mr. Bullock

can see, not yet anyway. He won’t know the hotel handed him another suite in time

to do anything about it, and I get a free awesome room.

It’s perfect.

I hurry to return the receipts and cards to him before heading to my new room.

t times, I still find myself thinking, I can’t believe that worked.

No matter how much I expect it to, or how many times a tactic worked before,

when I take things up a notch in some way and it still works, I end up pretty damn

impressed with myself.

I almost laugh like a lunatic when I get a load of the suite I got.

It’s huge as fuck—like, thousands of square feet, probably.

A fairly quick exploration reveals two large bedrooms with king-sized beds and

flat screen TVs in each one, a full dining room and kitchen with a frickin’ dining

table that could seat ten, two and a half bathrooms, hot tubs, a fully stocked bar

area, a piano, a fireplace… I mean, what the fuck?

I know I shouldn’t be surprised, but when you actually see this shit up close it’s

unbelievable what a different world some people live in.

I’m usually dancing for joy if I happen to rent a motel room where a roach

doesn’t make an appearance for the night.

This extravagant bullshit helps to remind me that some of the people I pilfer

from—well, they won’t miss what I’ve taken for a second.

I return to the lounge area, surveying the breadth and scope of the suite again.

Happy Birthday to me!

Chances are, if I’m wrong about the old couple and they’re more diligent than I

thought, I can pull out my innocent ‘this is all a mixup’ wide-eyed act and fool

anyone who checks up long enough to slip away.

I hop on the huge bed and hesitate briefly before figuring what the hell—might

as well go for it all.

I order room service.

I kind of want to invite Taylor over, but part of me is enjoying the extended

solitude.

Before I start partying it up with Taylor, it’s nice to have a quiet celebration for

myself—sipping champagne, laying out on a soft, king-sized bed surrounded by

creature comforts and luxuries, lazily flipping through the channels… I actually

can’t think of a better birthday present to myself.

All that’s missing is some hottie warming my bed for a bit, someone who can

work my body on this king-sized bed that I can kick out the next morning.

Instead, I get to work out a plan for my other goal—to reunite with my mom,

whom I tracked down here.

She doesn’t know I’m coming, and I haven’t told Taylor about it, but I’m trying

not to make a big deal about the whole thing; I basically just want to say hi.

I figure it’s been almost ten years, and I’m a grown woman now, so she’s free of

any responsibilities.

But maybe she wants to know that I turned out okay.

Plus I’d like to refresh my memory of her face, her form, her scent.

I don’t remember when the details started fading away, but without seeing her

and no photos of her left with me, she’s disappearing in a way, and I don’t want

that to happen.

Abandonment aside, even just the memory of her, the recollection of her pretty

blue eyes brings me comfort sometimes.

I know she exists, and she’s still alive, so I’m never totally alone.

I head for the bathroom, trying to decide between hitting the shower or the

Jacuzzi first.

s I’m exiting the bathroom with the dumbest smile on my face, wrapped only in

a towel with damp hair cascading down my shoulders, I suddenly hear a knock on

the door of the suite.

Practiced caution leads me to double check who’s there, and when I look through

the peephole, it’s not some guy in a penguin suit with my lobster and shrimp and

chocolate cake.

The agitated dude standing there is quite possibly the hottest guy I’ve ever seen

in my life.

He’s tall with chiseled features and flashing green eyes, and a mouth hanging

open a bit I’d love to cover with mine.

Instinct takes over, and though this hottie doesn’t look the least bit

approachable in his grumpy state, unless he’s gay, I can distract him enough for my

purposes.

He doesn’t look like he’s with law enforcement, so it’s time to turn that sexy

frown upside down. Opportunity is literally knocking.

As far as I’m concerned, the angry hottie’s another surprise birthday gift.

Thank you, universe!

Maybe my mom wasn’t a complete loon about that visualization stuff.

I make sure I look as alluring as possible—not hard considering my attire or lack

thereof—then I open the door with my most disarming, innocently seductive look.

C H A P T E R 3

A X E L

he party always starts on the plane.

Since it’s a private aircraft, there are no rules to stick to save the ones I make,

and the main rule is to have fun. To sit back, relax, and get pampered.

The food is top notch, the seating, plentiful and comfortable, some with

massage settings, and the gorgeous stewardesses are available to take care of all my

needs and the needs of those I’m traveling with.

Instead of flying to Singapore or Monte Carlo, we’re headed to Vegas, one of our

more casual playgrounds, the flight there and back on my dime.

I know it’s kind of petty, but a wave of satisfaction washes over me again as I

watch the guys and glance around the interior of my jet.

Here we are, in a spacious cabin with far more couches and lounge chairs than

we need, large flat screen TVs playing images we never bother to watch, top alcohol

and gorgeous willing girls within easy reach.

I can’t help thinking, I made this possible.

This trip to Vegas isn’t for any special occasion—I got bored and decided to bring

some friends with me for a three-day weekend of fun.

Well, ‘friends’ is a pretty generous term—of the three other guys here, I can

only call one a friend—my best friend, Nate, whom I’ve known since junior high.

Man, I used to envy Nate—he had a hefty allowance, parents who obviously

loved each other, and his college funds were all sorted out before he was born, with

a trust fund to boot.

He’s one of those kids who got access to a stable of European sports cars for his

sixteenth birthday.

His family had a large house, a pool, lots of yard.

Nate always had a shitload of toys and games, the latest of everything, stuff I

could only dream of.

I used to want to be him for years. Young me was able to sense the weight of all

the advantages he had as a result of being so rich.

Not only was he rich, but he was good-looking and had the girls eating out of his

hands.

I’m not exactly hideous myself, but there’s a different way chicks treat you once

they know you’re loaded.

They came after me as a temporary thrill, but chicks flocked to Nate, trying to

lock him down and get a piece of that pie so that at any given time, he had his pick

who to sleep with.

Now I know firsthand what that feels like; in fact, my access is even greater.

Nate’s still loaded, but there are some women who wouldn’t touch him—those

with money themselves looking for guys with even more.

They’re the ones I get that Nate doesn’t.

Nate is chatting with the newest members of our posse—Scott, a tow-headed

Aussie billionaire I met at some celebrity party, and Peter, whom I recently met at

another exclusive party he managed to crash.

Pete’s a software engineer, but because of his dark-skinned good looks and

muscular build, he often gets mistaken for a celebrity of some sort—athletic or

otherwise in the entertainment industry—and he just goes with it.

It’s pretty hilarious actually—watching girls actually flock to him because of his

looks, and he never sees fit to correct them.

He goes along with their assumptions, pretending to be whatever they think he

is.

It’s not his fault, right?

By the time they do research—if ever—he’s long gone.

And they never get his real name.

"Should I bring you another?" my brunette stewardess asks while another—a

steaming hot redhead— heads to the other guys with a tray of drinks.

I’m a good host; besides the array of food and drinks offered, I always make sure

enough girls fly with us for the guys to choose from.

The interior of the plane is arranged to accommodate all needs.

I offer a decent variety, and they take or leave them.

The girls all know why they were hired—for their hospitality skills, their

willingness to serve.

The one staring at me now, waiting for my answer, is extremely sexy.

She’s not particularly pretty—her face is attractive enough and nicely made-up

but nothing special. She has a smoking hot body, though.

While they’re always available because of the job requirements, this brunette

seems particularly excited about the possibility of sleeping with me.

I like eager chicks, but sometimes, it puts a damper on my desire.

I don’t feel a need to take advantage of every single opportunity, so unless I’m

super horny at the moment, at times like this, I’ll pass.

Scott’s heading back to one of the rooms with the redhead, leaving Nate and

Pete talking to each other.

I briefly wonder what they’re finding to talk about since they have so little in

common. On the surface anyway.

Maybe they’ll run out of things to say or do and grab a girl just to fill the silence.

And now that the redhead’s been claimed, it leaves the curvy blonde and the

slim Asian since the brunette with the Bambi eyes looking at me is off the table.

This girl knows not to offer herself to the other guys—not unless I’ve given the

okay.

I don’t sleep with anyone the guys have taken to bed, and I hired this girl to take

care of my needs, should a carnal one arise.

The guys may or may not indulge—it’s always interesting to see if they take up

the offers.

I pay attention to any particular preferences, and so far, I’ve found none. Their

dicks all seem to be equal opportunity, though I usually hire safe bets anyway.

My legal team hates all the people I bring in—despite the ironclad paperwork

the girls have to sign and the extensive background checks, the more people I

introduce, the more likely a leak of one sort or another becomes.

But I have people for that too—folks who silence anyone who might be too

talkative.

I don’t have to worry about how; I don’t have to worry about much of anything.

These days, for the past five years, I can just throw money at a problem and

solve it.

Mo’ money, mo’ problems? Ha!

Hakuna fucking Matata.

Right now, though, my dick’s asleep. Probably because I wore him out yesterday

with a busty soap actress.

I give the brunette a regretful smile, as if the fact that the bedroom area is

occupied now is the reason I’m not taking her up on her unspoken offer.

She nods, her eyes reflecting disappointment.

The brunette will have to wait for the return trip to ride this dick, and as I check

out her firm ass again as she walks away, I look forward to it.

The sex is even better when you make them wait for it.

y casino host took care of our rooms so it’s a relaxed limo drive to the hotel

private check-in entrance before we waltz down to the casino.

It’s funny how quickly you get used to other people doing things for you.

I vaguely remember waiting while my parents checked us in at the counter at

hotels for our few family vacations.

I can’t remember the last time I had to deal with someone directly like that; I

can’t remember the last time I had to wait in line.

I let my host know when I’m heading down, and he makes sure my usual

accommodations are waiting for me, amongst other things.

The rooms will be comped, as usual, and the other guys will share a multi-room

villa while I get my own room—a west-facing suite, my favorite.

I don’t mean to be a dick about it—I just like my own space, and since

everything we’re getting is on my player’s card, I have every right to carve out my

own man cave away from home. It’s not like the guys will be far from me.

Besides, they’ll be staying in one of the best villas available—multiple

bedrooms, way more space than they need, access to butler services, massage

rooms, their own bathrooms with hot tubs, pools, gardens. A fully stocked bar.

It’s ideal, really, and if any of them don’t like it, they’ll just book their own

room, but part of this whole experience is experiencing it together, and the three of

them are more social than I am.

Therefore, I’m getting my own goddamned room.

My host greets us and prepares to escort us to our rooms, and I can tell

something’s wrong immediately.

“So there’s been a slight snafu,” he says with a small fake smile, and I

immediately go on guard.

My tolerance for snafus is pretty much zilch these days.

“The hotel was unable to hold the usual room for you… ”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I say in a low voice as I glare at him.

His face flushes a bit.

I must be visibly furious because I feel a hand touch my arm in a sort of soothing

way.

“Dude, it’s fine—you’ll just have to slum it for the night with us,” Scott says.

That almost works to break my foul mood and makes me laugh since they’re not

exactly slumming it.

“We actually still got you booked in one exactly like it, set up exactly the same—

same amenities, same size, same everything. It’s just west-facing instead of

east…”

“But that’s part of the whole point,” I say, almost gritting my teeth.

I’m trying not to yell at him but it’s annoying me—I always get that room.

“Hey, Axel,” a soft low voice says as a hand simultaneously grabs my arm gently

but firmly.

No doubt it’s Pete—that guy’s all about the calm.

I know I shouldn’t get so upset about a room, but it’s one of my homes away

from home.

Plus the hotel should know better—I come here fairly regularly, so they know to

expect me. Is it totally unreasonable I’d expect them to make sure it’s available

when I get here?

My host looks nervous.

“Who booked it?” I demand.

“Unfortunately, I don’t have that information. ”

I get even more furious at being denied once again.

I don’t get denied—not these days. People give me what I fucking want.

I barely register another calming gesture on my arm, unable to see past my own

indignation.

This place is supposed to fucking cater to me.

Who the hell did they think was more important?

“Did they specifically request this one? Think they’d be open to switching? I

mean, if you’re pitching it’s virtually the same to me, why couldn’t that have been

pitched to them?”

“Could you give me a moment while a make a quick call?” he says.

I nod permission, getting angrier by the second as I stand there.

“I can’t believe they gave away my fucking room,” I say.

“Come on, man—they had to do it,” Mr. Mello-fucking-yellow says. “You know

how it is—a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush…”

“In Vegas?” Scott says jokingly. “It’s all about risking that bird for more bush—

uh, birds.”

He chuckles and the other guys join in.

I turn away from Comedy Central, refusing to let their lightness affect me.

What the hell is the point of having all this money if you can’t get what you

want?

My host is turning back to me and hanging up.

It can’t be because of the extra room this time, can it?

My previous trips, I only had the one room because it was just Nate and me, and I

don’t mind sharing a space in that case. Nate I can handle.

“They’re, of course, going to comp both suites, and for the inconvenience,

they’re giving you credit at the Versace store…”

He continues to yap on about a few extras thrown in to make up for this blunder,

but I’m still furious. It’s the principle of the thing.

And I know my host will be working overtime to cater to my needs on the casino

floor too, but there’s really not much more that can be done there; I mean, I already

get all the free drinks and cigars and meals I could want.

What I want is my usual goddamned room.

My host is apologetic, and his eyes are practically pleading to be forgiving, but I

see something else behind them. Not quite smugness, but some sort of defiance.

It’s like it’s taking effort for him not to say something, not to blame me.

And then it hits me—some whale probably got my room.

I’m a high-roller, but I’m pretty precise about my expenditures.

I take four gambling trips a year, and I carve out a specific amount to spend each

trip so that my gambling budget never changes year to year.

Basically, I’m unusually careful.

Because I’m so careful, I’m probably not exactly what the casinos would call a

whale—I won’t spend over a million on any one trip.

Therefore, when it comes to keeping me happy versus someone who will likely

spend more than four times as much as me…

Yup, that’s got to be it. A whale is in the building, and they’ve given him my

goddamned room because they expect him to spend a dick-load more than I will.

It’s sensible and logical, yet I’m still furious.

I always get what I want, and I don’t want some mirror image of the room I

always get—I want the room I always get! I want the same view.

I know I’m being a brat, but damn it—this isn’t a good beginning to what’s

supposed to be an easy-going trip.

This could put a damper on the whole experience.

And it’s certainly not the kind of energy I want to start playing with.

“It’s fine,” someone says as if they’re getting embarrassed by me.

I decide to play along, if only to stop whoever keeps trying to low-key calm me

with their arm grasps.

But my curiosity won’t go away.

Who the hell is staying there?

I have an urge to disturb them as they’ve disturbed me.

I allow the group to be led to the rooms, then at the first opportunity, I head over

to my usual spot.

One of the guys happens to catch me, but I don’t acknowledge them and keep

walking.

It’s crazy, but anger makes me pretty crazy.

Still, I won’t do anything stupid. I just need to see.

Push come to shove, I could just pretend I got confused since I usually stay there.

was fairly calm when I started to head over, but my anger builds with every step as

I get closer to what was supposed to be my room.

I knock on the door of the suite, determined to get a peek at the usurper.

I’m not sure what I expected once I got there—I’ve been known to go off half-

cocked—but I really didn’t plan anything specific.

What if some boxing champion had opened the door? Someone with fists that

are legally considered weapons?

What if it’s the CEO of the hotel who then decides to ban me from the place

since I clearly have no problem harassing guests?

Jesus, what the hell was I thinking?

Of course, the problem is that I wasn’t.

I start regretting my rash actions, imagining a younger, stronger, Mr. T, Chuck

Norris, The Rock.

What I definitely didn’t expect was for a pocket goddess to open the door.

I have to bend my head a bit, adjusting my eye line to make eye contact with the

tiny suite thief.

I won’t lie—a lot of my anger sort of melts away when I get a load of her—she’s

petite, gorgeous and she’s wearing nothing but one of those medium-sized towels

so it barely covers her feminine parts.

I briefly forget why I’m there.

“May I help you?” she asks sort of seductively.

She’s so distractingly beautiful and alluring, it takes me a few seconds to process

her words.

“How did you get this room?” I finally manage to say.

One of her perfectly arched eyebrows raises.

“Same way you would,” she says.

She looks at me like I’m an idiot but it’s in a playful way.

Jesus, she’s cute. And she seems a bit sassy. I like that.

I especially like that she seems unfazed about standing there practically naked

in front of a male stranger; in fact, it almost angers me a bit that she’d be so

careless.

But anger is a hard emotion to maintain at this moment with my cock throbbing

with interest.

I can’t stop my eyes from going over her exposed shoulders, and I try really hard

to keep my eyes above the towel, but my gaze drops as I say, “This room’s supposed

to be mine.”

She fixes me with a defiant glare, her blue-gray eyes hardening, and for some

odd reason, I’m actually looking forward to her tearing me a new one for being so

forward.

My cock twitches even more in anticipation.

C H A P T E R 4

A P R I L

recovers quickly.

He’s still angry for whatever reason, but he is most definitely aroused.

“How did you get this room?” he demands.

I shake off my brief waver of confidence.

His tall, heaving, broad-shouldered presence has thrown me off a bit. Not to

mention his beautiful flashing green eyes.

But I have to stay focused.

Truthfully, I haven’t encountered a specimen like him in…have I ever been this

close to a guy this hot up close?

The guy is cut, rippling with muscles, and his face is high-end luxury car

commercial-ready.

I answer him simply, which doesn’t seem to satisfy him.

Although the sight of me standing here like this seems to.

“This room’s supposed to be mine,” he says, barely able to keep his eyes off my

cleavage.

“How is that exactly? Was that your card I booked it with?” I say firmly but keep

my voice even.

I also keep my face calm and pleasant.

When confronted with an emotional person, escalation can happen extremely

quickly if you rise to their level.

Even when folks are near irrational, when faced with calming tones, part of

them will most likely become aware that they’ll look crazy if there’s a hugely

disproportionate emotional engagement, and most people aren’t cool with looking

crazy.

Still, I need to make sure this guy doesn’t go digging for more information—I

mean he was already ballsy—or crazy—enough to actually come here, not knowing

who he was going to be faced with just because he feels entitled to this room.

He’ll want to know who I am beyond anything I tell him; I need to distract him.

Not the worst task in the world, and certainly not the hardest; I have a very

distinct advantage here.

I step closer to him so that there’s about an inch between us.

Though he was agitated with anger before, a bit mediated by his obvious

attraction to me, my slender, nearly nude body this close to him is now changing

the game—his breathing is different, his mouth hanging open in the usual arousal,

his eyes darkening with unmistakable desire.

Haha! Got him.

But damn, I’m actually wet in anticipation.

“I’m happy to share,” I say.

I didn’t even have to fake the sultry tone.

This guy has turned me on so much, I have to stop myself from hopping up on

him.

I grab his hand and pull him inside, closing and locking the door behind him.

Then I drop my towel, facing him.

His eyes immediately start traveling my body, lingering over my naked breasts

before traveling lower, straight down to my waxed mound.

By the time his eyes make their way back to mine, I can tell he is finished—his

other animal side has taken over.

No doubt, whatever he was mad about is far from his mind as he grabs me to

him, planting his mouth on mine.

I find myself getting wetter, anticipating more of his warm body against mine.

I am so ready for him—and I don’t even know his name!

All I know is that I need this man inside me. Forget everything else.

I wrap my arms around him, pulling his head closer to me as I kiss him back just

as hungrily.

He picks me up and takes me to the bed, and in record time, he has shed his own

clothes, distracting me briefly with his sinewy body.

Christ, I didn’t imagine how much hotter he would be like this—his tanned

sculpted shoulders, strong wide chest and rippling abs, the giant raging cock above

powerful thighs.

A wave of fear suddenly passes over me, catching me off guard.

What the hell was that about? Guys like him don’t scare me.

There’s no risk here—what we’re about to do is purely physical.

I figure it’s just because it’s been a while, and I’m probably doubting a cock that

size can push inside me without hurting me.

Then again, I’m about as wet as can be.

He covers my body with his, and his mouth tastes my neck, making me emit a

moan as he teases the sensitive flesh.

He continues nibbling and tasting my body, his mouth moving from my neck to

my shoulders while his hard, muscled body hovers above me, his cock a tease just

hanging out there when all I want is for it to sink into me.

What he’s doing feels good—too good—and I just want us to get on with it, dive

into the basics.

All this slow tasting and teasing feels far too intimate.

It gives me time to appreciate too many parts of him—the softness of his lips,

the warmth and strength in his touch. I notice his thick, wavy brown hair I can’t

help but run my hand through.

I’m dripping in anticipation as his cock hovers above my heated, slick mound,

threatening invasion while he gets to know my body with his lips and tongue.

“I can smell your arousal,” he says hoarsely. “I know you’re soaking wet for

me.”

His fingers slide over my heated core, making me twitch at the electric

sensations from his light, grazing touch.

It’s almost too much for me.

Then he starts exploring me there, slipping one finger inside me, letting out a

deep groan as he invades my slick, heated core with his long, hard digits.

He slides his finger in and out, curling it every now and then and taking me

closer to snatching his head bald as my grip tightens on his hair.

“I can definitely feel your arousal too,” he says almost mockingly. “Your pussy’s

squeezing my finger, pulsing against it. You feel so tight. You’re not a virgin, are

you?”

None of your business, pal.

But I know it’s rhetorical anyway so I don’t say anything, waiting for him to give

me what I want.

Please just push it in. Just push your cock in my dripping wet…

“My cock wants in there so badly—but not before I taste you,” he says, then

before I can think or say or do anything, his mouth has captured my cleft, making

me arch my back and cry out loudly in surprise and pleasure.

My brain shorts and I start to see white spots.

Soon, I’m just a writhing, bucking mass of reaction to his warm, slithering

tongue.

I become dimly aware of him lining up the head of his cock with my begging

entrance and become fully aware again once he starts pushing it inside me.

He shoves it all the way in so that we’re practically pelvis to pelvis before he

starts pulling it out and slamming it back into me with delicious rhythm.

His hard, thick cock slides against my hungry walls in delicious massage,

reaching parts of me that will rocket me into orgasm soon as he plows into me.

I try not to look into his eyes as I pant and whimper while he drives his huge

cock in and out of my warm, wet canal.

He surprises me with a gentle brush of his thumb on my sensitive nub, and all

hopes of holding out longer fly out the window as he takes me to clitoral orgasm,

then makes me come again the same time he does from deep inside as he fucks me

harder and faster.

I moan loudly as our bodies contract against each other, the stranger sunk balls-

deep in me as he comes with a deep, masculine groan, his cock throbbing inside

me, my walls pulsing against him.

I experience brief panic as it occurs to me for the first time that he hadn’t

“

whipped out protection—my brain stopped processing properly once he got me

going, and now I’m paying for my momentary lapse.

My mind starts going a mile a minute till I remember how easy it is for an over-

the-counter EC.

He collapses on top of me, and it feels so delicious to have his hard body against

my soft curves, I wrap my arms around him and hold him there, smiling like an

idiot.

“Shit, are you on the pill?” he suddenly asks about a minute later, trying to look

at me.

“Yeah,” I lie, not looking at him.

don’t even know your name,” the guy says with a contented and alarmingly

gorgeous smile as we finally disentangle ourselves, his cock finally leaving me.

I miss it immediately.

“Jewel,” I say easily.

It just popped into my head, but now I have to remember it for a few minutes.

I hardly ever use my real name.

That was one of the first things Taylor taught me—never use your real name.

“Do they really need to know it? The answer is usually no because ultimately, it

doesn’t matter. Struck up a conversation on a bus? It’s likely you won’t see that

person again. No need to know. Going on a first date? Romantic relationships are a

liability. It won’t last, it won’t matter in the long run. Only harm can come from

them being traced to you and them knowing your name. Some dude you fuck really

doesn’t need to know.”

When people have neither your real first nor your last name, and sometimes,

not even your real hair or eye color, you’re a hell of a lot harder to track down.

This guy already knows what I really look like since I shed my wig and contacts

and washed off my moles.

“I’m Axel,” he says, reminding me that I neglected to get his name too.

Axel. I like that. Sounds pretty strong. Solid.

Part of me wants to tell Axel my real name, but I squash the urge.

I want him to know the real me for some odd reason, and that’s an insane

thought if ever there was one.

I mean, at some point, he’ll realize I’ve relieved him of his watch.

Luckily, if he notices it’s gone too soon, he’ll assume he’s at fault somehow.

The best part of having booked this suite is that, despite all the usual easy

indicators for people to trust me, the fact that I’m here means I must have money

too.

So why would I swipe anything?

“I’m definitely willing to share the suite,” I say to him. “But it comes with a

price.”

“Wait, you’re exacting sexual favors in order for me to stay in this room?” he

says with mock outrage. “I can live with that,” he finishes happily.

What a fool—he’s already looking too attached. What’s that genuine smile all

about?

I try to ignore the part of me responding to it but it’s persistent and worrying me

a little.

Shit, what did I get myself into?

I start panicking a little; I need to get out of here for more reasons than one.

But first, I need to get him out of here.

“You’ve exhausted me,” I say lazily with a slow smile. “I think I actually have to

take a nap to recuperate. Oh god, this is so embarrassing.”

I briefly cover my face, knowing the move makes me look disarming.

I catch his smile of pride.

“I’m afraid that comes with this package,” he says with a crude thrust against

me.

I try to roll my eyes, but it actually makes me laugh.

His adorably sly grin returns.

Goodness, I could get used to the sight of that.

Who would have thought the deranged prick who knocked on my door would

turn out to have such a beautiful gentle side?

He was so considerate as a lover—that’s totally rare, isn’t it?

And now as he smiles, I see no trace of the angry devil who rolled up here,

practically frothing at the mouth.

His hand reaches out and caresses my cheek and my heart pounds in an

alarming way.

I melt into the touch, suddenly saddened that what we have here will be over

pretty soon.

“I hate to leave you,” he says, sounding genuine and making my heart leap.

“But I have some friends I left behind who are missing me.”

“Some friends they are—you could have been pulled in here by some hitman

and ‘disappeared.’ Shouldn’t they have already come to check on you?”

“Well, we happen to amuse ourselves in various ways. They probably agreed on a

specific time limit before checking on me while betting on the outcome.”

He starts counting out on his fingers.

“Let’s see—Pete probably started the bet at five hundred that I’d return with my

tail between my legs within five minutes. Scott probably upped it to a thousand

while betting I’d try to negotiate more comps. Nate probably wanted to come get

me immediately but they held him back. How will he ever learn? Give him a few

minutes, they probably told him, then found ways to stretch those few minutes

out.”

His phone lets out a video game sound—like a gold coin obtained.

“There you go. See? They care. I’ll let ‘em know I’ll be down soon. Give you

enough time to recuperate for round two.”

I nod with sleepy eyes and a satisfied smile.

He smiles back at me, his eyes soft.

Fuck.

“Don’t get too crazy down there,” I say as if I care. But people love it when it

seems you do.

For some reason, though, it seems sadness passes over his eyes.

What the heck’s that about?

“I won’t,” he says way too seriously. “I just have to make an appearance since I

dragged them all here to begin with. I can’t wait for you to meet them.”

Then he smiles again, before kissing me on my forehead.

“Me too,” I say with a warm smile back, ignoring the melting within me.

C H A P T E R 5

A X E L

ow that’s more like it—this is how you start a trip.

Just like that, I got my usual place and it came with a bonus this time—a willing

hottie.

And I didn’t even have to pay for any of it! This is the kind of guest service I’m

talking about.

As I watch Jewel drift to sleep, I can’t help replaying some of my moments with

her—from the sight of her standing at the door in a teeny towel, to the sight of her

toned, slim form beneath me, moaning and writhing as I plunged into her gorgeous

body, taking pleasure from the warmth and slickness between her shapely legs. The

feel of those beautiful legs wrapped around me, her arms embracing me, her soft

breasts against my chest. Her lovely, satisfied smile when our eyes finally met

again, after we both recovered from orgasm. The strange warmth running through

me whenever my eyes met hers.

I take a long, satisfied breath.

It never takes long for me to score, but being with Jewel felt different.

She didn’t feel like just any woman; I felt like we connected far beyond my hard

cock being plugged into her warm body.

An odd additional layer of satisfaction settled over me while I was with her,

like… I’m not really sure how to describe it. Just that she felt sort of like home, and

certainly not the one I grew up in.

Jewel might be the first girl in a long time I take out for longer than a few days.

Unlike my usual short-term trysts, I’m nowhere near ready to let her go anytime

soon—she’s got something going on behind those blue-gray eyes of hers I’m

actually curious about.

I want to know more about her, in general.

I wonder who she actually is—what kind of name is Jewel?

I watch her sleep a little longer, still unwilling to leave her presence just yet.

Then I glance around and spot her belongings.

I feel a twinge of guilt as I take a step toward them; I shouldn’t go through her

shit like that.

I can almost see my mom’s disapproving face, sharp reproachful dark eyes, thick

dark hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun, mouth tightened in judgmental

disapproval.

If there’s one lesson that stuck from my mom, it’s respecting women’s

boundaries. And especially—especially—don’t ever go through her purse. Or any

bag.

I turn away. I’ll let Jewel fill me in later.

I do a quick search for the extra key card for the room and pocket it before

heading down to the casino where the guys are, no doubt, already playing some

game or other.

I can’t wait to spill it about what just happened, although I’m a little

disappointed no one checked up on me.

Thankfully, it all worked out, and now I have a hot girl waiting for me to come

back, someone I don’t have to worry about wanting me for my money, for sure.

spot the guys before they spot me and take in their demeanors.

Nate’s wound up, trying hard not to look so tense, while Peter and Scott couldn’t

look more relaxed.

No surprise there since Nate’s the only one who’s actually attached to me.

Pete spots me first and breaks out into a wide grin.

Seeing this, Nate finally relaxes as his eyes find me.

I’ll give him the details later, but everyone here deserves to know a little about

what went down.

"Hey!" Nate says. "We were worried about you for a second there.”

"Yeah, I see you guys all came rushing to come to my aid. Glad you didn’t come

a-knocking, though—you wouldn’t believe who opened that door."

"Something tells me we will," Pete says dryly in his smooth, deep voice, nursing

what looks like whiskey. "I’m guessing things turned out pretty well.”

Man, I can’t wait to see their faces when I tell them what happened!

“To put it mildly," I say. "So I knock and who opens? Gorgeous blonde. Petite

but curvy thing with blue-gray eyes and a killer smile. Completely naked."

So that last part was a bit of exaggeration, but come on, I have to go for dramatic

effect—gotta hook ’em.

"Get the fuck out of here," Scott says with widened eyes.

"I’m serious! I mean, not completely nude as she opened the door, obviously,

but she was wearing nothing but a tiny towel barely covering her from tits to upper

thighs. She was dripping wet too—must’ve just gotten out of the shower. You

won’t believe how gorgeous she is, but I guess you’ll see soon since we’ve come to a

sort of agreement—we’re sharing the room. Amongst other things," I add. "She’s

apparently staying by herself, believe it or not, and I’m not gonna lie—I didn’t

exactly register all the details because next thing I know, we’re tumbling into bed

together, towel off, all her lady parts exposed.”

Pete’s eyes practically pop open and I’m filling with pride.

"Wow," Pete says, looking damned impressed, and I can’t help but feel a bit

smug.

I feel like I just ticked something off my bucket list.

I’d never tell him, but I’m a little jealous of him sometimes.

Usually, Pete is the first to get laid—before we even get on the plane sometimes.

His smooth dark brown skin and sharp planes turn heads like nobody’s

business.

Plus he’s tall and muscular.

Don’t get me wrong—I have no problem pulling ladies. Anytime I want, day or

night, wherever I am, I can find a gorgeous willing chick, but Pete practically makes

them faint.

Right now, though, eat your heart out, Pete. Not that this is a race or anything.

Scott chuckles.

"Whoa—that’s some respectful language right there, ‘lady parts.’ You must like

her a lot."

I ignore the snort of laughter that follows all around.

"Actually, I do," I say. “I feel like she’s actually something special. It’s like we

connected almost immediately... "

"We get the picture, buddy—no need to go into details,” Scott says. “We know

how it works." He starts making crude gestures with his hands, sliding one finger

into the hole made by two fingers of his other hand.

"No, I mean—besides that. Yeah, once she dropped her towel, things got fuzzy,

and I don’t remember much after that except we had a hell of a time, and I can’t

wait to go back up there for some more.”

"What the hell are you doing down here then?" Pete says.

"Gotta pace myself," I say with a slow, wicked smile. “Plus I didn’t want you

guys worrying. And I feel like it’s my lucky night. Mark my words, I’ll make a killing

on the blackjack table tonight—I can feel it. I’ll introduce her later so you guys can

drool."

“Maybe she’s open to other positions, eh? Maybe we can all have a go,” Scott

says and my glare stops him cold as a fierce possessiveness takes over me.

An awkward silence sits for a moment until I force a chuckle to break the

unease.

The mood softens and goes light again.

I don’t know what got into me.

We joke like this all the time, but the thought of Jewel looking at any of these

guys with the eyes she gave me, the thought of any of them touching her, has me

seeing red, and I feel like I’m capable of ripping one of their limbs clean off if they

attempt it.

Despite my fake laugh, I know my message is clear.

She’s fucking mine.

“Dude, when something seems too good to be true, it usually is and there’s a

catch somewhere. Has no one ever taught you that?” Pete says.

“Yeah, but in this case, there’s something more going on. I know things moved

super fast, but this feels … different. I might even keep her the whole trip,” I add

casually, suddenly feeling too exposed. The whole trip’s just three days, and I don’t

want to come off like some softie. I have a rep to maintain. I can’t let anyone know

how much Jewel really affected me; I’ll look weak.

Then Nate suddenly says, "Dude, where’s your watch?"

"Huh?" I say stupidly as I glance at my wrist.

I must’ve been hella distracted not to have noticed till now, but can you blame

me?

Still, it’s not just any watch; I’m pretty careful about this one, in particular.

Nate knows how important it is to me, and he’s probably the only one who

noticed it’s gone.

"Must’ve left it up there," I say casually, even though I’m panicking a little.

Yeah, the chick is obviously loaded if she’s staying there, but I’m still wary about

leaving shit behind with a stranger—particularly that thing.

What the hell else did I leave up there?

I attempt a mental check and realize the stack of hundred-dollar bills I’d been

keeping on me is missing.

Must’ve fallen out as my clothes started coming off.

I stifle my growing panic.

I’ll be back up there in a few hours or so for round two with Jewel, so no biggie.

I let myself relax and ignore Nate’s look.

"I’m hitting the tables. You guys coming?"

watch a slim blonde sidle up to Pete, her eyes sparkling in a way I’ve come to

recognize.

"Morris Chestnut, right?" she says and I barely stifle a laugh in time.

Pete just gives her a slow grin, like You caught me! but he doesn’t say anything.

He has this uncanny way of leading the ladies on, confirming without actually

saying a word of confirmation, managing plausible deniability on a technicality.

"I never said I was," he can say each and every time, but by then, it’s too late.

They’ve already given up the goods.

"Oh my god, I love your movies!" the blonde says, her voice getting higher with

each word.

Chances are, she’s lying.

Maybe she saw one or two movies of whomever she mistook him for, but it

doesn’t matter.

He smiles at her.

"I try to keep a low profile," he begins in his smooth deep voice, “but it’s kind of

hard."

"Oh yeah, I get it totally. I’m surprised I’m the only one who has recognized you

so far!"

He shrugs, briefly looking away, as if afraid attention is being brought to him by

talking to her.

“Some people choose to play it cool and keep their distance, which is fine by me.

Besides, celebs pass through here all the time,” he says oh so humbly.

He has figured out how to talk about both sports and the film industry without

actually saying anything about either—nothing specific that could expose him.

The blonde can barely contain herself; she is practically quivering with

excitement.

"Um, do you mind if we go somewhere?"

Pete smiles at her then looks over at me and says, "I’m going for a walk. Catch

up with you guys later?"

"See you, man," I say, trying to look casual but probably failing. "We’ll catch up

later." I’m seriously on the verge of losing my battle with my stifled laugh.

It’s just hilarious every single time.

He heads off with the blonde’s arm hooked around his and I finally let some of

my laugh out.

I wonder how many of them catch on eventually?

What do they think afterward? Do they feel tricked? Or are they still pretty

damned happy they took some hot black guy to bed?

Do they still pretend they slept with the real deal to their friends?

I only wonder about this momentarily, because ultimately, it doesn’t matter.

Fair game, I figure—they only go after him because of who they think he is, so

it’s their own fault.

epending on my mood, I’ll go for a private or public playing spot, and I opted for

a public spot this time.

Not surprisingly, it’s not long before feminine attentions are concentrated in my

direction.

I can feel eyes on me as sure as a warm touch.

Sheer force of habit means I smile when my eyes happen to catch predatory

feminine ones boring into me, but once they get bolder and start to approach me, I

find myself brushing them off, cutting off eye contact definitively.

Once I’m forced to awkwardly brush off a few, I stop encouraging them

altogether, avoiding eyes whenever I can.

This is strange.

I figure the only thing making me do this is knowing I have Jewel nearby. It’s as

if I want to make sure she doesn’t catch me flirting; I don’t want to upset her and

jeopardize this thing we’ve started, whatever it is we’ve got going.

I know she felt it just as much as I did, and if we have a shot at something long

term, I don’t want to fuck up out of the gate.

I’ve done that before.

I always considered flirting harmless until it got me in trouble with a serious

girlfriend I had a few years back. She made her feelings about it pretty clear to me,

but I ignored her, and then one day, a girl I had a longtime flirty dynamic with

decided to kiss me.

It caught me sort of by surprise, and once my girlfriend found out, she never

trusted me again and we broke up shortly after. She didn’t believe it wasn’t what I

had been going for all along, and the girl who kissed me, well, she figured, that’s

what I wanted. I couldn’t blame either of them. Apparently, flirting isn’t so

harmless once it goes on longer than one or two times.

Soon, my laser focus takes over, and it’s only after a few successful rounds that I

realize I’m now flanked by two incredibly hot chicks, their perfumes punching me

in the face while they bask in my glory, hoping to get a chance to help me spend my

winnings.

I let them hang there since I still have an image to maintain with my buds, but I

don’t really acknowledge them at all. I just go with it—the general goodwill in the

atmosphere, the dedication to having as much fun as possible.

Even if Jewel were to come down, she seems pretty good at reading body

language; I’m sure she’d be able to tell I’m not into them.

She’d see the whole scene for what it is—that the ladies are simply part of a

picture-perfect Vegas frame, a freeze-frame capture designed to mislead.

Like the family photo still sitting on my mom’s mantle.

It’s our final family photo, way outdated but probably never to be replaced since

so many of the parts present then are missing now.

There we are, all four of us, my mom and dad looking like a perfect couple

despite my dad’s countless affairs—but you can’t see those in the picture.

My mom looks happy, healthy, perfectly sane—not depressed and suicidal at all.

And my dad looks content—like he has everything he wants: a lovely wife and

two strapping sons. Not like he has another family elsewhere he’d rather be with

more than anything.

And then there’s my brother and me.

We’re all in shades of red as my mother insisted—she picked a different color

each year up to that point for us to coordinate our outfits.

It was a compromise—we could wear whatever we wanted as long as it was on

the spectrum of whatever color she’d chosen.

This time, that red was almost like foreshadowing.

Women usually choose less bloody methods to take themselves out, like

poisoning or suffocation, sitting in a closed garage with the car on, or taking too

many pills. Even hanging.

Not my mom—she went out in a splatter of glory.

So here I am on a picture-perfect Vegas sight. A young risk-taker flanked by

gorgeous interested women, hoping to be chosen as a prize. Living the life, happy

and carefree.

We all make a beautifully deceptive sight.

I’m in what appears to be an engaged, supportive room hoping for the odds to be

in my favor, when in actuality, I’m a billionaire playing for cash I don’t need,

surrounded by people waiting to pick at my flesh.

fter a few solid rounds, I have to pretty much physically disentangle myself

from those broads when it’s time to leave.

I’m gently removing feminine hands with slender fingers that have found my

chest when I hear Pete say, "Giving up already?”

I have to quell a brief wave of resentment and remind myself he doesn’t know—

neither Scott nor Pete knows about my brother yet—we haven’t gotten that close.

I told them I’m an only child, that both my parents are dead.

Half-lies. Or half-truths. However you want to look at it.

Only Nate knows the real deal, so he would never pressure me to continue, not

even jokingly; in fact, he was against my first trip to the casinos after my brother’s

disappearance.

But since then he has relaxed.

I don’t mind the ribbing from the clueless new guys, but I’ve been sitting here

for a while, and I actually made a lot of money this time around.

I certainly don’t need it, but just because I’m loaded doesn’t mean I throw it

away needlessly either.

Though I still play with fire, knowing what happened to my older brother helps

keep me in check.

I have fun with what I’ve got, but my brother was all the cautionary tale I

needed, so I’m listening to that little voice telling me my luck’s run out in this spot

for now, regardless of peer or pussy pressure.

Speaking of pussy, I let the easy lays next to me do their usual pouty schticks as

they try to get me to stay and hang out or take things further, but I disentangle and

toss them a chip as I head away from the table.

They’re slightly disappointed, but I’m sure they see the bright side of getting a

handout without even having to give it up.

I’m happy to head back up to Jewel to celebrate my winnings and satisfy any

other needs.

I find myself smiling as I make my way to our suite.

What a night this has turned out to be; I’m not sure how it can get any better.

C H A P T E R 6

A P R I L

examine everything Axel left behind.

What a nitwit.

I can’t believe he left me in here with this stuff!

Just kidding—I can absolutely believe it. Men aren’t too smart once their cocks

take over.

Axel thinks he fucked me so good I’ll be here waiting for more, trembling in

anticipation of his return to ‘my’ room, my heart pounding.

Ha!

I won’t lie—the sex was amazing, and I actually do wish we could go for another

round, but if there’s one rule of this game one must stick to, it’s to get out while

you can, particularly when you sense the gig’s about to be up soon.

I could definitely milk him longer, so to speak, but it’s too risky to hang around

longer in this borrowed room, especially since he has seen my real face.

I’ve had my fun—way more fun than I expected—and now it’s time to go.

I examine the watch I relieved him of as his clothes started coming off.

It looks promising as hell—pretty expensive.

I have no idea of its actual worth—never heard of the brand—but it’s definitely

worth a lot; guys like him don’t wear just any watch.

Maybe Taylor will know more.

At some point, I’ll google it to get a better idea of its value so I don’t pawn it for

too little; I don’t want to get jacked. Then again, I can’t put up too much of a fight—

the less visible or memorable, the better. Either way, between the watch and a roll

of Benjamins he had on him, I’m pretty set for a while.

I’ll have to disguise myself to hide my trail a bit—Axel already knows too much

about me. He knows what I actually look like head to toe, my real hair color and

length, my real eyes.

If Axel goes looking for his watch, some blonde won’t be dropping it off; I’ll

probably throw on the red wig and shades for that trip. The longer I can stall the

sucker with misdirections, the faster and further I can get away.

You know, I shouldn’t be so hard on Axel— poor guy had no chance against a

pro.

He did what guys tend to do and let himself get swung by batting eyelashes.

Plus he let his guard down because he thought he was dealing with someone

close to his level financially. Why would a rich girl rob him?

Guys are generally pretty easy anyway, even without an elaborate setup, like

impersonating a rich girl.

When I bump into them, they’re usually more concerned about having almost

bowled me over since I’m so tiny, and by the time I flash an apologetic “I’m such a

klutz” endearing smile, they’re in a fog over the whole “Hey! A pretty girl collided

into me and smiled at me like she didn’t mind I had to hold her up for a second!”

They never suspect their wallet’s gone until it’s far too late.

Even then, I doubt they suspect me at first.

I have what Taylor calls an innocent face. Angelic, she even said, but I’m pretty

sure it was part of her buttering me up to work with her.

I realized she was right, though—I do have an innocent face. Child-like, even.

Sometimes I play it up since there are times coming off as a teenager is super

beneficial, but for the most part, I use being legal to my advantage.

The best part about actually being of age and on the market is that I never have

to go hungry.

The bad news is having to endure a date with some schmuck whenever I feel like

eating more than cheap fast food or frozen dinners.

Every Friday night I treat myself to hearty steak or lobster or whatever I’m in the

mood for that I refuse to pay for myself, and every Friday night, I’m pulling off the

act of a girl who might be interested in a little more than dinner so I can chow down

and have awesome doggy bags to take home.

I might even go on a second date with the guy, depending on what I’ve gathered.

There are guys who front like they can afford to provide dinners like that all the

time, and there are guys who actually can.

Guess who I might even go home with?

There’s never a doubt my date wants me in bed—that’s the whole point—and if

I sense I can get more from him by going home with him, I’ll do it. But usually not

for the reason he wants; I’ve just decided I can get more from him faster, and the

next time he wakes up, he might find some shit gone.

As I count the hundred dollar bills, it strikes me how lucky I really got.

I stuff Axel’s belongings into my bag, trying desperately to ignore the tiny pang

of guilt shooting through me.

It hits me every now and then, but since Taylor scolded me about it the first

time, I’ve become pretty good at hiding it, and these days, I don’t feel it as much.

But I was young and new the first time scored pretty big, and Taylor had to pause

her celebration over what I’d obtained when she saw my face…

ou’ve gotta learn to rein that in," Taylor said.

"What?" I looked up, wondering what she was talking about.

She shook her head, her eyes roving my face.

"That too—you have to learn to control your facial expressions, April; I can see

clearly you feel bad about robbing him. But you shouldn’t. It’s all about survival. In

most cases, what you’ve done is exactly what they’d do if they were in your shoes.

People just get to act all high and mighty when they’re charmed. When they don’t

realize how good they’ve got it. They think because they haven’t been in your

shoes, they have the right to judge your actions and reactions. But most people are

shit, you know," she said. “They put up a good front, and everyone would like to

think they’re a good person—some of those delusional dickwads actually believe it

—but they’re not. If given the opportunity, the majority of people will screw you

over because, in the end, everyone’s selfish. You have to be, in order to survive and

get along. Nobody likes to own it, but it just is. One selfish decision after another

leads everyone to where they are…”

feel fortified as I remember her words, heroic even.

This is a victory for the poor and unlucky.

What I’m taking, it’s probably nothing to Axel—like flicking a penny into a

wishing fountain.

People like him really make me sick.

How much does it cost to stay in this room? Is it really necessary for you to

spend that much on a goddamned hotel room? Isn’t there some charity you can

donate to?

I think about people I’ve met who have to think hard about how to get fed the

next day, and I get even madder at his flaunted wealth.

People like Axel don’t like thinking about feeding the poor and are worried about

entitlements, but man, the things they feel entitled to.

I bet his wealth is blood money. It usually is.

I zip up my bag, fully packed.

Once I’m all set, I grab my phone and give Taylor a ring.

She tells me she’s in the middle of a job but gives me the motel and name she’s

checking in under, and we arrange to meet up later.

I double-check to make sure I’ve got everything, then take one last look around

my surprise accommodations, a gift that kept on giving like some golden egg-

laying goose.

I feel a small wave of sadness at having to leave it behind so soon, although

better sooner than later. Staying here will only get riskier.

I also feel bad about leaving Axel behind—he was really good in bed. My body

misses his hard cock already.

Plus, part of me wishes I could see his face once he realizes he’s been had.

Hey, look on the bright side, bud—at least you get your precious room!

I giggle at that.

What an adventure.

I can’t wait to tell Taylor.

As I head down Las Vegas boulevard, the Bellagio fountains grab my attention as

one of the water shows start.

The fountain show looks like a party—bright lights and confetti on my behalf.

The display is accompanied by one of my favorite songs—"Time to Say Goodbye"

by Andrea Bocelli and Sara Brightman.

My mom got me into songs like that—she loved opera and she herself had a

beautiful voice; it haunted me a long time after she left.

I pause a moment, a swell of emotion overtaking me as I let joy run through me

over my successful first day.

Vegas has welcomed me beautifully with a buttload of cash off the bat, a sweet

lay, and the promise of meeting my mother again.

What a birthday this is turning out to be.

For once in my life, I feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

t strikes me for the first time how much older Taylor looks.

She’s only about ten years older than me—not that I’ve ever been able to

confirm it—but something about her face has changed, it seems.

Guess it’s just stress.

If someone were to see us together as we sit here on this motel bed, they could

take us for cousins, maybe, or a much older aunt. Maybe even my mom.

Not that we look anything alike in our natural state—her lips are thin, whereas

mine are on the fuller side. My skin is smooth and blemish-free, and she has that

scar on her cheek.

I have honey-blond hair and blue-gray eyes which can look either blue or gray at

any given time, and her eyes are hazel. Her hair… I’m not actually sure what her

natural hair color is, but she tends to go with red outside of the wigs, despite telling

me blond is generally best to go with.

“You could go a little lighter,” she’d said, “but that’ll work. Plus you’re lucky

you’re blue-eyed. That particular combination disarms most people. Don’t get me

wrong—this combo works pretty well too,” she said, pointing to herself. “That is,

before this happened, of course.” She frowned as her finger traced the scar on her

cheek, which she told me she got while fighting off a sexual assault.

The guy hit her and happened to be wearing a ring that ripped through her face.

She says her suddenly-bleeding face gave her the opportunity to escape since it

distracted her attacker momentarily.

She does her best to cover the scar with makeup, but anyone within a few feet of

her can see it.

I sense bitterness from time to time about the blemish, which I can’t blame her

for—it has made the hustling game a bit harder for her since she now has a very

identifiable mark, but she still manages.

What am I saying? Manages is an understatement.

The thing is, just about everything can be turned into an opportunity.

She has an angle for the blemish now, and though she doesn’t exactly troll

boulevards with a sob story and a cup, she has formed new characters to play.

I try to read Taylor’s face before she says anything and before she can mask how

she really feels.

"How did it go?" I ask.

She shrugs. "Didn’t quite work out as I’d hoped, but when one door closes,

another opens."

"Tell me about it. You won’t believe what just happened."

Her eyes quickly go from looking sort of distracted to arresting me with interest.

"Whatever it is, looks like good news," she says with a slight smile.

"The best. So I hit up this older couple, got their shit and end up in this huge

hotel suite."

"That was dangerous. Way too high-profile, April."

"I know, but I didn’t plan to stay there long. Anyway, I’m hanging out when I get

a knock, and, thinking it’s room service, I open it. It’s some guy who usually stays

there apparently, and guess what—he’s super hot. So I fuck him because, why not?

But also, he was ripe for the plucking—he’s obviously totally loaded. We made

plans to ‘hang out again,’" I say with air quotes, "but, of course, I just took

everything he left behind and got out of there. Some things, he didn’t even know

he left behind,” I say with a grin, producing the watch.

I hold it up by my index finger, wiggling my eyebrows.

"Wow," Taylor says, eying it. "I wonder what it’s worth?"

"Me too. I was hoping you’d have an idea, but I’ll just google.”

"I’m impressed, April! You got hella lucky, but you maximized that luck. As for

me, even with one plan falling through, I’ve still been cleaning up so far. We’re

both killing it, and since your birthday will be here soon anyway, this definitely

deserves a toast.”

She heads to a bottle of champagne and two glasses, pours them, and heads

back.

She hands me one.

"Cheers," she says.

We clink our glasses together and both take a sip.

"So tell me more about this guy," she says. "You can’t leave out the best parts!"

I am only too happy to indulge.

First I describe his looks—his height, his build, and those muscles rippling

beneath his casual clothes.

But then I find myself describing the richness of his voice, the way his smile

lights up his face in a way that makes him look unbearably boyishly cute.

I don’t mention the way I trembled beneath his touch, the warmth that ran

through me while looking into his eyes.

Eventually, I start feeling about drunk, and while this isn’t exactly my first time

drinking, it usually takes more that what I’ve had for my brain to feel fuzzy, for me

to feel dulled.

"Do you remember the first night we met?" Taylor suddenly says with sort of a

sly look on her face.

"How could I forget? I’m crying my eyes out in the rain and someone approaches

me, then reaches out a hand. I looked up and into beautiful hazel eyes."

She laughs.

"I had recently pick-pocketed a man when I saw you. You looked so tiny, curled

up like that, so pitiful with your blond hair darkened by the rain. I knew I had hit

the jackpot once I actually saw your face."

"What do you mean?"

"You were so pretty! So little and cute and adorable—a powerful weapon. I knew

you had it in you, that you’d become an invaluable member of my team. And I was

right. You weren’t exactly a natural, but your natural advantages trumped that. Just

like I figured, you had the power of disarming—one of, if not the most important

parts of this whole gig. I’m glad our paths crossed, April. I’m glad life finally threw

me a bone in the form of you."

She raises her glass toward me.

"You have no idea how close you came to being prostituted. Trafficked. I saved

you. In the end, you’ll thank me."

I puzzle over her words.

What the heck was she talking about? I was already immensely grateful to her!

No, I didn’t know what other possible horrors awaited me should I have

remained on the streets perhaps just one more day alone, but I do know what she

has done for me.

I want to argue lightly with her, tell her I haven’t stopped being thankful she

took me in, but I’m getting really sleepy really fast.

I start trying to fight it; after all, I haven’t even told her about my plans to see

my mom yet or anything!

I guess the quick intoxication makes sense, though—it’s not like I eat a lot, and

drinking on a fairly empty stomach after all the excitement today—it’s no wonder

I’m about to pass the fuck out.

"I’ll just take a quick nap," I try to say to Taylor as I flop onto the bed and my

vision and brain activity fades.

C H A P T E R 7

A X E L

practically sprint to the suite, eager to see Jewel again.

I’m thinking, instead of taking her for another spin right away, I can book a

restaurant and actually take her out so we can have a nice dinner and get to know

each other better.

I’ll have my host start making the arrangements.

I can’t believe I’m actually thinking like this, but there it is.

Jewel has put some kind of spell on me.

I’m excited about her in a way I haven’t felt in years.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had crushes before, but this girl has me feeling like I’m

fourteen again, like it’s my first time. I find myself a bit nervous about impressing

her, which is so stupid—I’ve got everything going for me.

But I want to take her out somewhere, watch her eyes dance with pleasure. As

good as she looks naked, I want to see her in a cute, designer dress.

I’m imagining all sorts of things starring her—making future plans for dates in

my mind, various lingerie she’ll get to model for me.

I imagine the look on the guys’ faces when they see her and realize I wasn’t

exaggerating about her beauty.

I even imagine her on my plane for the first time, wondering if she’d be

impressed.

Or does she have her own private jet?

I wonder what she does?

Which wealthy family is she connected to?

Does she have siblings? Is she close to her parents?

I can barely contain my grin as I slip the key card in the door.

My heart is thumping against my chest, and I feel absolutely giddy.

I find myself in wonder that I’m thinking beyond which sexual positions to put

her in next at all.

Usually, I can’t wait to see who’s the next victim to fall into my bed, how much

she’ll resemble the last girl.

I wonder, will the next one be freakier, more acrobatic? Will she want me to

spank her, try to fuck me with a dildo? Will she look like a good girl? A bad girl?

Will I have to pray the condom doesn’t break because she looks untrustworthy

as fuck?

Speaking of which, I suddenly remember Jewel and I didn’t exactly take

precautions.

Guess I’ll talk to her about that stuff once I get back to the room, although

Jewel’s obviously a girl who handles her business, if her ability to rent the suite is

any indication.

A girl like that gets pregnant when she wants to get pregnant.

Strangely enough, the thought of an accident like that with her doesn’t disgust

me; in fact, I almost find it pleasant.

I have to stop in my tracks for a moment, I’m so blown away by the revelation.

I never wanted kids—or rather, I never thought about having them.

I just never imagined my life with them.

The way I’m living now is the life—nothing tying me down.

The steady rotation of new lovers is ideal—I learned long ago not to trust the

opposite sex.

Sure, there are some dedicated true-blue types, like my mom, but once money

enters the picture, being loved for who you are is out of the picture.

You can’t trust anyone.

I dated a girl once whom I accidentally collided with—a cute, wholesome-

looking brunette with the deepest dimples.

I couldn’t resist asking her out and finding out if she really was as sweet and

innocent as she seemed.

I wanted to corrupt her.

We dated for a while, and I never let on how loaded I was, and she seemed to

really like me for me.

Turned out, she knew exactly who I was all along and arranged our ‘accidental’

collision, with the intent of grabbing my attention.

I only found out after I finally let my guard down and gave her one of my cards to

buy something nice.

Yeah, I know—that was dumb. But I didn’t expect my girlfriend to actually max

out a six-figure limit credit card then disappear.

I had Nate use his skills to help me dig up more about her, and we found out that

sweet-faced girl had quite a rap sheet—she’d been busted by the cops a few times

for various crimes—shoplifting and fraud among them. She had a different name

attached to each mug shot.

That was quite a while ago, but since then, I just assume every girl is just looking

to dig her claws into my funds, all of them a con artist of some sort, and ultimately,

all of them gold-diggers.

I can’t be bothered to do a background check every time I meet a girl I like, so it’s

best to keep things simple. No long-term commitments. Bang ‘em and move on.

Jewel is perfect—she’s got her own wealth, so I don’t have to worry about her

being after me for my cash.

open the door with a goofy grin, wondering if she’s still asleep or if she’s sitting

up, waiting for my return.

My heart sinks a bit once I notice she didn’t come out to greet me.

Then I feel silly—the place is huge. She might not have heard me come in. She’s

probably out on the balcony or locked up in a bathroom, soaking in a hot tub,

unable to hear over bubbles and pop music or something.

I call out for her while searching, all the while trying to ignore the sinking

feeling in my stomach my brain refuses to make sense of, even when I realize the

place is practically empty save for what came with the room, all sign of Jewel

beyond a wrinkled bed is gone.

The sinking feeling has a bit of the horrific shades of the same sensation

permeating me when seventeen-year-old me arrived home, minutes away from

finding my dead mother.

Loud absence.

Maybe she slipped out for a stroll. Maybe she left to run some errand—to pick up

some lingerie or something.

I soon realize that there’s no sign of the stuff I left behind, so I search harder,

trying to spot the valuables pile, still hoping she just put them aside somewhere

while she’s out shopping or something.

It feels like every organ in my interior drops when I realize there’s no sign of my

stuff or hers—every sign that anyone was staying here gone, save for the rumpled

bedsheets.

No sign of her bag, and definitely not the watch my dad gave me.

"No," I hear myself say softly, and then I shout, "Jewel?" again, even though I

know there’s no way she’s going to answer.

She is gone for good.

This can’t actually be happening.

She stole everything! I can’t believe it.

After I spent all day bragging about this amazing woman in my hotel room, she

has robbed me blind.

I suddenly feel incredibly dumb.

I’m a goddamned poker player—how could I have not seen the signs?

I’m going to be humiliated if I go back to the guys now.

What the hell am I going to tell them?

I plant my butt on the nearest seat, my hand to my forehead.

You know what? I deserve this for even thinking this girl could be different for a

second, for entertaining the thought of having more with her for just a moment.

I’m glad Jewel reminded me why I no longer take her sex seriously in the first

place.

Why did I think things would turn out differently this time?

Why did I let myself imagine more than a one-night-stand?

If I see her again, I should probably thank her for getting me back on track, for

confirming what I believed all along.

I probably will get to thank her because I sure as hell am gonna find her.

It’s one thing if she just ran off with a couple hundred dollars, even a couple of

credit cards.

With a quick phone call, I can block the cards from being used and the cash is no

big deal—I never meant to leave with the stack I came with.

It’s annoying to be stolen from, but ultimately, losing the cash has no real

impact on my life.

The watch she took off with, however, is a different story.

I know I shouldn’t be so sentimental about it considering the baggage that

comes with it, but that watch was not hers to take.

That watch is the only present my dad ever gave to me outside of the joint

Christmas gifts from him and mom.

I’m almost sure now that all those gifts marked ‘From Mom & Dad’ were actually

just from her.

That watch, however, represents the last day I saw my father, the final concrete

thing he handed to me, outside of the loads of money he passed on to me

eventually.

My dad might be a piece of shit living with his new family now without a single

check-in, but that watch still has sentimental value.

The emotional memory of that day is imprinted pretty heavily on my mind, the

conflicting emotions of joy and sorrow.

I can remember pretty much every detail of that horrible day.

It was the beginning of the end, and the beginning of a strange new start.

My dad had never given me anything like that before, so I should have known

something was wrong the minute he appeared in front of me holding a small

wrapped gift…

ere’s your birthday gift, son,” he said, his eyes not matching his slight smile.

Or maybe they did a little—his eyes looked sort of sad, and his smile was half-

hearted, sort of droopy.

But I only focused on the part of the smile that made it and the gift box he was

holding out to me.

"But it’s not my birthday for three more months,” I said, taking the box anyway,

but looking at him inquiringly, knowing something was off.

“I know, but it’s best you get this now.”

“Why? Why can’t you give it to me in three months? Why can’t you hand it to

me on my birthday?"

He paused before answering, his eyes momentarily focusing hard on my face as

if transmitting a message.

You should know the answer to that, they said.

"I’ll be away on vacation. I won’t be here for your special day, so ..."

"But why now? Why not a week from now? Why not closer to my birthday?"

He just looked at me for a moment, then reached out and grabbed me into a hug.

I wanted to pull away, and I think I tried to for a moment, resisting what I

instinctually knew was coming, but I soon melted into it and let my father hold me

for the last time, his cologne strong in my nose, momentarily forgetting the small

gift box in my hand.

"Goodbye, son. You take care," he said, his voice deep and rumbling, the sound

making his chest come alive with a hum as he spoke.

Then he was pulling away, his back turned, walking away from me.

"Dad?"

I watched him pull away further after a few more long, confident steps before

beginning to run after him.

"Dad... "

I couldn’t catch up—I could no longer reach the man who raised me, the one

who’d been around my entire life.

And all I had left of him was his stupid early gift.

I threw it against the nearest wall.

Eventually, I picked it back up again, unwrapping it and opening the container to

find a weird-looking watch.

It definitely wasn’t my style, but it reminded me of him, so I pretty much never

took it off once I put it on…

take an exceptionally deep breath as the loss weighs on me, doing my best to stay

calm and reasonable so I can figure out my next steps.

I’m getting my shit back, and somehow, I’ll make the thief pay for what she did.

Guess I can just turn her over to the authorities—that should be enough,

although a heartless bitch like that is probably dangerous.

I ignore the part of me trying to tell me that’s a lie, that it’s not a fair

summation her—she’s not heartless.

But how could it not be? She stole all my shit!

Here I was, thinking we actually had something special, and she just played me

like a fiddle. How can you take so much from someone in such a short period of

time?

She obviously has no conscience. No heart.

I’ll have to come up with a story for the other guys, but Nate will get the real deal

because if anyone can help me find her and save face, he can.

I take another breath, checking every part of the suite once more before heading

back to the casino.

Jewel is not going to get away with this.

If I have to, I’ll break out the big guns.

I’ve got enough money to track her down, and if I have to, I’ll hire investigators

to figure out who and where she is.

Once I find her, she will pay dearly.

No one pulls a fast one on me.

PARTII

WAGINGWAR

The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy

without fighting.

— S U N T Z U

C H A P T E R 8

A P R I L

come to slowly, my head feeling like it weighs twenty pounds, my brain foggy.

It takes a moment to figure out where I am—this seedy motel room isn’t a place

I recall choosing to stay in, and boy, what a stark contrast to the huge suite I’d

almost gotten used to.

Then I remember coming here with Taylor; it’s the room she booked for us.

My eyes continue to sweep the empty room as memories slowly make their way

to the forefront of my consciousness.

I remember trying to decide how much to tell my best friend about Axel.

I’m used to sharing everything with her, but this time, I was conflicted—my

time with Axel felt like something I should keep to myself; it felt like something

worth respecting.

Still, that’s what best friends do, right? Spill all the dirty details.

I remember feeling sort of bad afterward, like I’d said too much. Like I should

have been more protective of my time with Axel.

I pretty much immediately regretted running my mouth like that.

It was a lesson Taylor herself taught me a long time ago—never tell everything.

I’d just figured since Axel was just a fling, and ultimately a delightfully

unexpected mark, it was no big deal to talk about what we did and how we did it,

despite some part of me yelling that he could have been so much more than a lay, a

target.

There’s no sign of Taylor now—no bags, no discarded clothing—and I don’t hear

any indication that she could be in the bathroom or anything.

I slowly raise myself off the bed, my head still pounding and heavy.

I notice a folded sheet of paper tucked under a pillow and grab it up.

I straighten it, a feeling of dread hitting me before I even read the words.

Look, I’m sorry, it says. But hate the game.

To top it off, that bitch had the nerve to draw a heart where the vowels should

have been in the word Taylor.

I wonder whose handwriting she stole to write me her stupid little ‘don’t hate

the player’ note.

Taylor has this creepy ability to accurately imitate any handwriting she sees, and

she has totally freaked me out by writing to me in my own handwriting before. Just

for kicks.

Luckily, she didn’t add insult to injury by doing that this time.

Still, I’m definitely mad as hell now that it’s clear what happened, but it’s being

choked by sadness alarmingly quickly.

It’s not the first time someone I worked with pulled a fast one, but Taylor? Of all

people?

How could she do this to me? We were supposed to be in this together!

I throw the ball I’ve made of Taylor’s note across the room in rage, and I

suddenly realize I am dangerously close to tears.

God damn it, no way.

The last time I cried was the day Taylor found me, crumpled near a garbage can.

Since then, I had at least one person I could put my trust in, someone to look up

to, someone to keep an eye on me. Someone who made me feel like I wasn’t

completely alone.

Since that moment, I figured all wasn’t lost. I learned that there was always

hope.

I should have known better.

If I can do this sort of thing with her, and if I could watch her do this sort of

thing to others, she could easily do the same to me.

She pretty much warned me not to trust her, didn’t she?

A specific memory comes back to me, one that makes it clear that, had I been

less green at the time, I would have known how this would end…

ou really thought he’d come through, didn’t you?" Taylor says with a slight

smile, her hazel eyes practically dancing.

I’m not sure if she’s even bothering to try to hide the amusement in her eyes.

"I told you," she continues, shaking her head, "you can’t really trust anyone.

Not like that. Sure, the kid had a sweet face, sure he looked sincere when he said

he’d do it. But people are born to be self-serving, self-preserving.Why should he

follow up on the job you hired him for when he could just flee with the money,

without having to do the work? Sometimes you have to trust for the time being, but

let this be a lesson, A—prepare to be betrayed."

I realize I’m hanging my head, whether in sadness or shame, I’m not aware, but

I do feel pretty stupid. I’m also unwilling to believe her fully—some people are

trustworthy, right? Even if they’re few and far between? Taylor makes it sound like

trusting is pretty much a lost cause.

I try not to think about all the evidence I’ve gathered over my short lifetime that

actually backs up her claims. My mom, my foster homes… I pretty much haven’t

been able to lean on anyone for too long.

I realize Taylor’s voice has softened as she speaks again.

"Obviously, you can’t do everything on your own, A, but to get people to stay

true to you temporarily, you pretty much have to sweeten the deal. Promise more of

where that came from—whatever you decide is most valuable. In this case, it was

money. Maybe the kid still would have fled, but you would have increased the

chances he’d carry out his part by appealing to simple logic. You could have offered

twenty dollars now, thirty dollars when it’s done. Simple."

She rubs my shoulders in a comforting gesture.

"Don’t give in to your emotions like that—you feeling sorry for the kid

compromised your ability to do proper business. Always remain logical when you’re

the one dealing the cards, even as you prey on others’ emotions when you’re

working with what you’ve been dealt. If you’re going to default to anything, default

to logic. Is the kid more likely to take the money and run, failing to play a part in

your distraction? The answer, according to probability, is yes. Therefore, the next

question should be, ‘how can I appeal to the reasonable, greedier part of his brain?’

How can I make him see it’s worth it to work with me? The answer is pretty much

always: offer more. Could be money, could be shelter, could be food. Could be

companionship. If you don’t want to be done with them and have them take off on

you, offer more.

She pauses.

“Of course, that doesn’t mean you actually have to follow up on whatever you

promised. Once they return, the ball is in your court. Depending on your next

immediate or even long-term goal, you can either continue the cycle or disappear

yourself."

asically, you can’t count on anybody.

I kind of knew it before I met Taylor, and somewhere along the way, she

distracted me from the truth.

At the very least, Taylor left me with a final lesson, the most important one of

all: trust NO ONE.

Best to use people for whatever they can give rather than give them a chance to

take from you when you let your guard down.

I finally leave the bed and search the whole room, from the bathroom to under

the bed to the closet and find myself panicking even more as I realize she didn’t

leave me a goddamned thing. She took everything I stole from Axel, plus everything

I brought with me from L.A.

She took my tools of the trade: my fake IDs, my burner phone, the quickie

disguises.

I knew she’d robbed me of the cash and watch, but I just figured she would have

dumped my backpack somewhere, leaving me my own shit at least.

But that’s all gone too, even the disguise I came here in—the wig, the glasses.

I didn’t bother putting in brown contacts when I left the suite I shared with Axel,

so my supply of those are also gone.

I’m left with only what I have on. What I really look like.

The panic is taking over quickly and I know I’m about to lose it, so I start taking

deep breaths, consciously focusing on the act of deep breathing for a few moments

to calm myself down.

I need a clear head now more than ever.

I guess this is the first time in a long while I met up with Taylor with everything

worth a shit to me on me.

I should have left something behind in my L.A. apartment, something I could

hide somewhere I know my roommate wouldn’t look and later show up for,

claiming I accidentally left it behind. Some emergency stash.

Again, in yet another way, I broke a cardinal rule: never put all your eggs in one

basket.

You should never put all your money in one place, and you should never put all

your trust in one person.

I made it easy for Taylor to bleed me dry; I never figured out how to squirrel away

for rainy days.

You’d think with the hauls we take in sometimes, we’d be able to save a good

chunk here and there, but this sort of life teaches you it’s best to live in the

moment.

You learn you can never really feel safe, that even if you squirrel away savings,

risking opening bank accounts with all your real information attached, your assets

can be frozen, garnished for taxes or something. Or someone might find out you’re

using someone else’s ID and social security number, and you’re suddenly in a lot

more trouble than no longer having access to that money.

Or you can come home and find the money you hid in your mattress or floor

board or stuffed animal gone.

At any moment, your careful saving can turn into heart-plummeting loss.

So you learn to be prepared, all right—prepared for the worst.

For me, that pretty much takes the form of living it up while I can.

I’ll never forget this girl I met on the streets—Alicia.

She had all these plans. Despite her dreary circumstances, she talked brightly,

hopefully about the future.

She had a stash somewhere—a stash that would save her, she was sure of it.

She happily talked about what she would do with it.

But the ex-boyfriend she’d fled found her and beat her to death.

She never got to use that stash, amongst other things. It probably could have

helped her had she used it up getting further away him.

Obviously taking the future into consideration makes sense, but in some

circumstances, you realize the future is promised to no one.

It’s up to you figure out how to do whatever you want with what you have right

now.

At some point, I want to live on the record, but that’s clearly not in the cards

anytime soon.

I’ve had legit jobs—babysitting, cleaning—and I know I can transition to a more

legal lifestyle, but Taylor always found a way to pull me back in.

Like now.

I’m pretty much back to square one.

I feel so incredibly stupid, so immensely gullible. A feeling I’m not used to being

on the receiving end of.

I’ve been had.

I realize I’m more upset about losing Taylor than my stolen goods, and even my

‘work supplies.’

Taylor was my only friend and I had considered her a true friend. I never

suspected she didn’t grow an attachment to me as I did to her.

She faked everything between us—a connection never formed.

Tears continue to sting my eyes but I absolutely refuse to cry.

Nope—not letting her do that to me too.

Tears help nothing and will only make me feel weak when I now need to be

stronger than ever.

I swallow back the tears, steeling myself against the emotions threatening to

take over and eventually, my breathing returns to normal, and my brain is starting

to think up a few plans.

Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t be so worried about where my next

meal is coming from or anything, but on top of Taylor’s betrayal, the full realization

of how she left me starts to wash over me.

Taylor completely cleaned me out, taking things she didn’t even need, so it’s not

even about her survival, is it?

It’s like she was deliberately setting me up to fail spectacularly, like she’s

hoping I get caught in the simplest of ways due to lack of resources, but I refuse to

believe that’s the case.

She probably thinks I’ll figure out a way to track her or lead someone to her with

the number she’s been using, which I certainly didn’t memorize—I just plugged it

in; we change them often enough. Maybe she took the IDs because her fingerprints

might still be on them. Maybe she completely cleaned me out just to help cover her

tracks, and it’s ultimately about survival after all.

The result is the same—I have nothing.

She taught me that too, by the way—get rid of all physical evidence. Leave

nothing to chance—even if it seems like overkill, do it. Better safe than sorry.

I’ll have to get a new ID. New wigs, contacts.

With dry eyes, I consider my next step.

Yet again, I’m on my own, but I’m practiced—I can do this easily.

It’s funny how many lessons my mom taught me that later got enforced by

Taylor but in more real-world, concrete ways.

I guess in a way, it’s natural that that’s where I head next. Now’s as good a time

as any.

Maybe I’m looking for more clues about me from her.

Maybe I just want to remind myself there’s somewhere I belong.

At the very least, I can get some kind of closure.

Either we’ll get along and be friends or something, or I’ll finally take Taylor’s

advice and harsh final lesson to heart and close my mother off for good.

She is, after all, the best example of why you can’t rely on anyone.

I mean, if you can’t depend on your mom, who the hell else can you trust?

I start formulating my plan.

The room is paid for for at least one more night—at least there’s that.

Hopefully, I won’t need it.

I memorized the heck out of my mom’s supposed location according to my

research.

I figured out various ways to get there from various start points.

I might not have any cash or credit at this time, but I am never short on assets.

Free rides are pretty much Conning 101; transportation is one of the easiest

things to figure out, especially when you look like me—a youthful, petite

frightened-looking blonde disarms most people.

Without my disguises, I’ll end up risking being identified by people who will

most certainly remember the blonde girl they gave a ride to, but I don’t have much

choice at this point; I don’t have time to dye my hair or risk drawing even more

attention to myself by trying to walk out of a store with a new wig using the five-

finger discount.

It’s funny—this time, there’ll actually be some truth to the lines I’ll give my

good Samaritans.

This time, well, I actually am a frightened girl out of money trying to get home.

shower and wash and condition my hair so I’m nice and fresh, discarding my

underwear but putting my other worn clothes back on since I don’t have any other

options.

Before leaving the motel room, I rehearse several approaches, running over

various scenarios and characters in my mind.

I don’t need anything elaborate—it’s my mom, after all.

Obviously, I’m not gonna tell her what I’ve really been up to—unless it seems

she’d like to hear it because she can identify; maybe she has the same streak in her.

Nah, I’ll probably just present as the perfect daughter—healthy, attractive,

well-adjusted, independent, and smart; it’s the safest bet.

My current outfit is casual and cute—not super conservative, but not slutty.

I’ll try to brush my hair somehow, but you know what? I look just fine overall.

My natural state seems to be the most irresistible to others.

I wear it when I’m just being me, no plans to approach anyone as I head to the

public library or wherever I decide to take a stroll on my day off. But boy, do people

approach me—usually with warm, friendly smiles.

As I am—fresh, young, and natural, minding my business—is the most

irresistible look of all.

Hopefully, my mom finds me just as irresistible.

C H A P T E R 9

A X E L

ack so soon?” Scott asks with a distinctive mocking drawl.

I fake a laugh.

"It’s been forty-five minutes, at least. Not exactly a quickie.”

Nate is looking at me like he knows something went down and I avoid his eyes.

"Anyway, after tonight, I’m probably done with that one. She was fun as hell,

but ..."

I shrug my shoulders casually, ignoring the pang in my chest.

"Lucky for me, she checks out in the morning so I get the place to myself and I

get to take a new bird back there. Why bring sand to the beach, right?"

Shit, I might be giving myself away—even I can hear the strangeness in my

voice, like I don’t believe my own words.

“That’s quite a turnaround,” Pete says. “One minute, you have a real

connection, the next, you’re done? What happened? Did you find out she’s married

or something?”

I shake my head, although damn it—that was a good cover. Why didn’t I come

up with that?

“Did she tell you she prefers girls and was just experimenting?” Scott joins in

with a lecherous smile.

I shake my head again, wondering how to put the brakes on this game of twenty

questions.

“She’s just… not as special as I thought. I’m sorry, guys—I got temporarily

blinded by big beautiful eyes and perky tits. She had, like, the perfect body, and I

don’t know if I’ve ever come so hard. So excuse me—things got a bit fuzzy with tail

like that. But after I hit it again just now, once we got done and she got to talking

more, I realized I’ve been there, heard that. She’s just another airhead. So yeah,

that connection I felt was just lust, apparently. You’d think I’d know it better by

now. My smaller head tricked my larger one into thinking more was there than

there is, that there was more to her than a cozy lay.”

“Bummer,” Scott says. “I was actually looking forward to meeting her after all

noise you made about her,” he says. “At the very least, you’re sure she’s still

smoking hot, right? Or did the sight of her naked body before you trick you into

thinking she was special in that way too?”

I suppose his comment was innocent enough, but his previous crack is still fresh

in my mind and rage fills me.

Why should I care if he gets a crack at her?

But I can’t stop the anger radiating through me at the thought of him getting a

look, then a taste. Even though it would serve him right if he got robbed blind as

well.

“No, she’s definitely super hot—I’m not exaggerating about that—but that’s

about all she’s got going for her,” I say with a shrug of my shoulders.

“Well, what more do you need?” Scott pushes. “Not like you’re gonna marry

her. Fuck her till you’re tired, then grab the next bird.”

I ignore him.

I can see Pete’s fixing his mouth to dig further, but luckily, a sort of plain but

curvy looking brunette comes over, all smiles, with her arms linked with an even

plainer, lanky, curly-haired, freckle-faced companion.

Of course, the duo heads straight for Pete.

“Forgive me if I’m wrong,” the brunette says, “but you’re, like, a famous

athlete, right? Football?”

As upset as I am, my mouth twitches with restrained laughter.

I mean, this girl didn’t even try—most just throw a name out there; they take a

wild guess.

Blair Underwood. Taye Diggs. Idris Elba.

I don’t blame them, even when they’re way off with the difference in height or

build because Pete totally looks like he should be some star; his face was made for

the screen.

I wait for his You got me smile, and when it comes, the girls have a mini-

freakout.

“Can we have your autograph?”

He nods and signs whatever they hold out to him, then writes a name after they

ask him to do that.

I wonder whose name he used?

Probably doesn’t matter. He could’ve made one up and they probably won’t

bother to check.

I watch with great interest to see what the girls do next.

Sometimes girls unabashedly offer to take him back to their room or whatever,

and sometimes they leave after the autograph or photo.

Other times, like right now, they try to be slick, but I see when the curly-haired

one slips him a room key.

Looks like someone’s getting a menage tonight.

A light bulb suddenly goes off.

It finally occurs to me that the girls are probably in control, that most of them

don’t actually believe what they say—it’s just flattery. They’re just hoping to

sweeten the pot and improve the chances that Pete will forget all the other, better-

looking options for a moment and take them for a spin.

Either way, both parties win.

I smile, grateful for the momentary distraction.

Then I turn to Scott, hoping to extend it.

“So. You have no plans of settling down ever, I take it.”

He shakes his head firmly.

“I have no idea why I would do that. My life’s perfect as it is—no nagging

girlfriend, no frowns, no disapproval of my actions. I’m free to fuck and drink and

play as I please.”

“So you’ve never met a girl you wanted to lock down?” I ask, suddenly curious.

I’m pretty much a confirmed bachelor myself, but there was a time the thought

of settling down held some appeal.

I know Nate’s still open to the whole idea; he’s just cruising along until he can

find someone worthy. He always wanted what his parents have, while I was keen on

avoiding what my parents had, even though there was a time I’d hoped to fare

better and tried serious relationships.

No more.

Scott shrugs, and I catch what almost seems like a shadow crossing his face.

Holy fuck. I hit a nerve.

“I mean, there was this one girl, but it didn’t work out. Haven’t been interested

since. She was interesting, that one—kept me on my toes.”

He takes a sip of his Scotch, and I get the impression it’s to help fortify him; he

needs that liquid courage.

That girl, whoever she is or was, must’ve done a number on him.

“So you loved her. You wanted to marry her.”

His face tightens and he looks away, and it almost seems as if he’s about to drift

into memories.

“I did,” he admits.

I’m a bit surprised—Scott’s usually all about bravado. Then again, I haven’t

exactly known him that long. We’ve hung out about three times since meeting at

that party over a year ago.

It seems Scott still hasn’t quite gotten over whatever he had with this girl, and I

want to ask him more—what happened to her? Why didn’t it work out between

them? But I’m hesitant to disturb whatever memory lane he’s now on; it seems

painful, but welcome to him. Like he’s appreciating the moment to go back there—

the pleasure of it worth all the pain.

Damn, I’m suddenly glad Jewel didn’t get to string me along for much longer—I

have no doubt I could’ve fallen for her hard, and the next thing I know, I’m a mess

when she does take off, then trying to bang anything that breathes in lame

attempts to forget her, including my friends’ sloppy seconds.

As my mind returns to Jewel, I remember I need to figure out what to do next.

I’m wasting too much time here.

While Scott’s busy sorting out another drink order, I approach Nate.

"Hey, Nate—I need to talk to you for a sec. Privately.”

Nate seems only too happy to be pulled aside.

"Dude, what the fuck?” he says quietly, his eyes are searching my face, great

worry reflected in them.

"Is it really that obvious?"

"That something went down? Yeah. I don’t know if those guys picked up, but

spill it.”

I fill Nate in on the rest of the details, unable to look at him as I talk.

I don’t want to see the judgment or worse, amusement on his face at my

expense.

I know he’s my friend but everyone loves a juicy story. That’s just a fact.

I run my hand through my hair, frustration filling me again with my recap.

My emotions have risen to the top again.

“I mean, she totally cleaned me out!” I finish, looking at him last, prepared to

see some sort of judgment or poorly hidden pleasure on his face.

Thankfully, all I see is sympathy as he lets out a long breath.

"That fucking sucks,” he says, emphasizing each word.

Definitely an understatement, but his tone makes up for it.

"I need to find her,” I say. “You know how much that watch means to me.”

His eyes study me.

"Is it really just about the watch?” he asks, looking a little too wise.

I consider following through with the lie I’ve been perpetrating since I left the

suite to head to the casino.

Yes, it’s just about the watch—screw the stolen money. It’s definitely not about

the girl herself.

"No," I admit, knowing he’d see right through me. "Despite what she’s done to

me, I need to see her again—if only to confirm she’s not who I thought she was,

that my gut, for the first time ever, was wrong. I need to get closure in a way. I need

her to show me her true colors.”

He takes a breath and I’m not sure how to interpret it.

“What do you need me to do?" he says.

I stare at him, once again struck by how much of a real friend he is to me.

Sometimes I forget some people are actually capable of loyalty. Sometimes I

forget there are people you can count on.

"That’s where your skills come in,” I say. “Hopefully, this doesn’t have to get

much bigger—I’d prefer to just track her thieving ass down here quickly, get my

watch back, then turn her in to authorities.”

“What info do you have on her?”

Boy, do I regret not looking through her stuff earlier—I don’t have a single clue

to work with.

All I know is what she looks like and the name she gave me—which I’m damned

sure by now isn’t her real name.

I really don’t want to have to break out the big investigative guns, and I sure as

hell don’t want to risk anyone else finding out about me getting played by some

baby-faced blonde.

Plus, I’m guessing she wasn’t supposed to be in that room after all, that she

weaseled her way in somehow.

“Anyway, I don’t want to give her too much of a head-start. Maybe we can start

with the suite booking info?”

I can see Nate’s excited to put his hacking skills to work.

We head to his suite where he pulls his computer from the safety box and

happily gets to work.

e find out whose info she used, but it’s pretty much a dead end.

We alert the hotel of the imposter and talk our way into getting access to

security footage and nail the booking to a petite brunette.

I figure it’s just Jewel in disguise, so we access additional security footage and

eventually pinpoint the same girl leaving hours later—same clothes, same wig.

“Sweet. Another dead end,” I say.

“Don’t you worry. I’ve got more than one card up my sleeve,” Nate says, his

fingers flying over the keyboard again.

C H A P T E R 1 0

A P R I L

stare at the residence—the building supposedly housing my mother.

I’ve never been so nervous in my life—even when Taylor sent me to do my first

big job.

I’m practically shaking, my palms are sweating, and I can hear my heartbeat in

my ears while my heart thumps against my chest.

I’m even twiddling with my fingers like I’m twelve again.

I walk up to the door and knock, trying to remind myself there’s a chance she

won’t answer. That she might not even be at home. That she has moved since my

last address check.

That she’s the type who won’t open the door to strangers under any

circumstances.

The wave of emotion washing over me as my mother opens her door is more

than a little alarming.

I learned how to keep my emotions under control a long time ago, and though I

get hit by joy at times at some of my luck—like pocketing a black card—such

moments are brief, sharp, non-threatening to my state of mind and ability to act.

The residual happiness is controlled, and I can operate normally.

This wave, however, almost knocks me off my feet.

I expected to be pleased by feasting my eyes on my mother again, to be happy

about getting to see her in the flesh, warm-blooded, and familiar. To see

recognition light up her eyes.

But there is no recognition in those ice-blue eyes.

“Hi!” I say with my brightest, warmest, most disarming smile.

This smile takes guards down like nobody’s business.

People tend to mirror others near them, and especially right in front of them,

and even when I encounter someone wary who is resisting the urge to smile back, I

catch the quirk of their lips as they fight the urge.

But from this woman, I get nothing.

"May I help you?" she asks.

I didn’t realize I was cheesing so wide until my smile rapidly retracts at her

frosty words.

"Sort of," I begin, trying to regain my footing.

This is definitely one of those cases where giving my real name is appropriate.

“I’m… April,” I say, smiling again, barely strangling the word “mom” and

stopping it from escaping.

I don’t want to freak her out. She already looks like a deer pausing their

exploration of your yard because they heard a noise from inside the house.

"Your daughter,” I nudge.

She just stares at me, barely blinking, her blue eyes sending a chill through me.

She tilts her head, but the look in her eyes doesn’t change.

"Yes?" she says like she’s waiting for me to get to the point. “I know who you

are,” she continues, though I have no idea when recognition dawned on her—her

face hasn’t changed a bit.

Damn. Talk about a good poker face.

“What do you want?” she asks.

All right, I clearly need a different approach.

I’m pretty used to swerving—I’ve had to pivot like you won’t believe when I

realize I’d miscalculated many times before, but the number of times I have to

catch myself and regroup so far in the past minute or so is unmatched.

Mostly because my mother is giving me nothing—I don’t know which angle to

work.

Clearly, just being a fruit of her womb is not enough to keep her interest, nor is

being open, forgiving, and warm working in my favor.

I feel something falling inside me, and I try to ignore my emotions so I can stay

focused on the task at hand.

I can’t let it sink in that she might be unmoved by me; I can’t process the

possibility that she actually couldn’t care less.

But you know what? Even if she is totally indifferent to my existence right now, I

just have to win her over.

I’ve done this before countless times.

Heck, just recently, I took down a raging hothead in a matter of a minute,

scrambling his brain so much, he left some of his valuables in the hands of a

perfect stranger.

"I happened to be in the area, and I figured I’d drop by and say hi. It’s been a

while since we’ve seen each other, and I figured maybe we could catch up a bit."

I know my smile is coming across as nervous.

Dammit! Confidence, April. At the very least, don’t let her see how much this is

affecting you; don’t give her that power.

Her lips widen ever so slightly in a distant smile.

"Catch up," she repeats dryly, and I can practically see the quotation marks

around her words, almost as clear as if she’d done the gesture with her fingers.

"What for?” she asks almost brightly.

She can’t be serious, right?

I mean, it’s not like I expected her to become overwhelmed with joy and scoop

me up in her arms, holding her only child to her in relief that she turned out okay,

that she’s still alive. It’s not like I expected we’d start baking cookies and braiding

each other’s hair like deranged BFFs.

But I thought she’d at least be pleased to see what I grew into.

I’m a competent human being when it comes to taking care of myself. I made it

all the way to this point, grounded and beautiful to boot. Shouldn’t she at least be

proud?

My eyes start itching.

I recognize the feeling, but I know tears definitely won’t work on this woman,

and I wouldn’t even have to fake them this time.

I take a breath and center myself again.

I’m sure my smile makes me look unbreakable this time.

"May I come in?" I ask more formally, my voice even.

Maybe the inside of her place will give me a clue as to how to reach her.

I can pretend to have a similar interest in something or other. Hell, we might

actually have something in common—she’s my mother, for christ’s sake.

“Why?” she asks.

Dang, is she made of pure logic? Is there nowhere I can touch?

I try to think of a logical appeal.

God, I feel like a novice.

How is it she has made me feel like this is my first time putting myself out there

all over again?

“I feel like a Jehovah’s witness or something out here,” I say lightly.

She hesitates for a moment, her eyes passing over me as she weighs the pros

and cons of letting her discarded daughter inside her home.

I don’t blame her, I guess.

What if I have an ax to grind?

As far as she knows, I could be here to exact some sort of revenge, or, at

minimum, try to ask something of her she’s not willing to part with—money. An

apology. A kidney.

You can’t just trust people these days, much less let them inside your home. I

should know.

I lift my hands in a surrendering motion.

"Relax," I say even more calmly, "I’m not here to ask you for anything, I’m just

here to update you. Not for your sake, for mine. I won’t take too much of your

time.”

Her mouth tightens briefly before she steps back to let me in.

I immediately glance around.

It’s a space I’ve never been in, obviously, but somehow, it feels almost the same

as the space she carved out for us back in my childhood home.

Then again, people tend to recreate home in some way wherever they go—

unless completely trying to leave it behind, of course.

In my first foster home, I tried to make it feel more familiar by arranging my

stuffed animals the same way.

The room I’m in is sort of dark with lit candles, and it smells like incense.

My mom stands out in contrast to the dark room with her fair looks—white

dress on pale skin.

I am suddenly struck by a moment of recollection—me, about eight, my hair in a

single braid down my back—one of the rare times my mom decided to do

something with it—working on some drawing while my mother floated around in a

white dress, ‘smudging’ the room, I think she said, saying something under her

breath while she waved around this smoking bundle of sticks.

I take a seat on the nearest couch but my mother remains standing near the

door, staring at me, even after she has closed it.

It almost makes me stand up too, but she’d win in making me uncomfortable

enough to leave sooner rather than later.

She obviously has nothing to say, so I begin.

Compliment her.

"You’re as beautiful as I remember," I begin with a warm smile. “And this place

is nice; in fact, it reminds me so much of our old home." Oops. Keep it casual. No

blame, no accusations. "Anyway, I’m just here in Vegas for my birthday weekend.

Figured it would be a great place to celebrate my twenty-first birthday, and since I

always wondered about you—if you were okay—I sort of tracked you down here at

some point and figured if I ever had the chance to come visit, I’d say hi, let you

know all’s well. So here I am. That’s it.” I shrug casually as I flash a smile again.

But that’s not it. I’m not ready to go yet.

“Anyway, I’m doing pretty well overall. Working in Hollywood now."

That last part isn’t exactly a lie. I did live in Hollywood, and I did ‘work’ there.

I even tried to get an acting career going at some point, but boy are there a lot of

pretty people with far more experience doing the same.

I went to an audition once and thought someone had slipped me something

beforehand, making me trip for a second—just about every girl there looked like

me.

Anyone who thinks they’re something special can be humbled pretty quickly by

attending a casting call. No matter how much you think your features are unique,

you’re probably wrong.

Anyway, I wasn’t sure it was such a good idea to pursue such a career—if I got

enough exposure, someone I scammed might recognize me at some point.

What I wanted to do was behind the scenes anyhow—I wanted to work in

graphic arts.

My dream job is animating comics someday.

In another life, maybe I would have been holding down a steady job in the

midwest somewhere while working on launching my career as a comic book artist

before eventually transitioning to animation, working on Disney or Pixar movies or

something.

Not that my mother is about to know any of this.

It seems I calculated correctly, and she asks no follow-up questions, so I don’t

have to answer what exactly it is I supposedly do in Hollywood.

We sort of just look at each other for a few more seconds.

I mean, is she going to say anything else at all?

I find myself longing to hear her voice again, the voice that filled me with even

more emotion once the familiarity of it registered as I stood outside, even as she

stared at me coldly.

Her voice is clear and feminine, but firm.

And you should hear her sing. Her voice then sounds like sunny meadows. Like

you expect butterflies to start landing on flowers magically appearing near you,

even if you’re locked up inside.

"That’s nice," my mother says, starting to look agitated at last—but not because

of guilt or anything. Her body language screams she wants me out of there.

My throat tightens briefly, and I rise from the seat.

"Well, it was nice to see you again," I say as casually as I can, but I’m not really

sure how it came out. My footing feels unsteady once again.

I try to squeeze out another smile.

I fight back the instinct to at least extend my hand for a shake, but something

tells me she’d just stare at it.

I certainly don’t expect a hug or anything, despite how desperate I am for

contact with her. I need to feel the warmth of my mother as she wraps her arms

around me.

I know I can get through anything if I could just...

I lift my chest and hold my head high.

She has been missing almost half my life now.

I’ve done just fine without her all this time—why the hell should I need

anything from her now?

As usual, I’ll manage the next stage by myself.

She opens the door for me, and I nod my head in final goodbye, unable to find

any more words.

I jump a little as the door closes firmly behind me.

Wow. This is horribly embarrassing.

My throat feels weird again—like I took a huge bite of an apple—like, almost

half of it—and now the chunk is stuck in there; I can’t get it to go down.

I suddenly get the impression that even if I had revealed that I found the cure to

cancer, my mother would still look at me with those flat blue eyes, uninterested.

I am horrified to find my eyes stinging with tears.

I choke them back, impressed with my ability to suck them back in.

I re-center myself, casually acknowledging that my mom would make a terrible

mark—even for Taylor.

My mother would be a hypnotist’s worst nightmare—none of the usual tricks

work on her.

Talk about the opposite of gullible.

I try to think what I could have done differently, just like with some of the

auditions I went on where I ultimately didn’t book the job and couldn’t stop

thinking afterward about how I could have been better.

Oh, well.

It’s pretty obvious I’ll have to go back to that L.A. apartment now.

There’s always Lorax—if someone’s tutu-wearing dog hasn’t taken him out.

Getting back to the motel and even L.A. won’t be too problematic; free rides are

one of the easiest things to get.

Still, though, talk about a one-eighty—the most promising trip ever turned into

the most painful in the blink of an eye.

A drop of water suddenly splashes onto my arm.

Just great. It’s starting to rain now. Perfect.

But then I realize the drop came from my eyes.

A few fall this time before I’m able to call them back.

ow that I’ve had even more time away from my ridiculously huge borrowed

suite, the motel room doesn’t look as bad now.

It’s still smelly, and I’ll probably immediately get a fungus from the floor if I

take off my shoes, but I’ve definitely slept in worse.

I’ll just be here overnight anyway, and then I’ll take probably take off tomorrow.

I lie flat on my back, fully clothed on the rough bedspread, my hands behind my

head.

I stare at the ceiling for a while, then I turn my head to glance around absent-

mindedly.

Happy fucking birthday, I think as I notice the primitive clock display announce

midnight.

Despair starts taking over again, and I fight off the urge to sob as another

teardrop escapes, but I’m almost immediately interrupted by a loud thump on the

door, then a crash as two men burst in.

Absolute fear takes over as I recognize one of the men, and he’s someone I doubt

is happy to see me—well, outside of the possibility of recovering his stolen items,

that is.

Instinct takes over and I head for the motel window, away from the huge angry

males headed in my direction, but I am quickly caught by the waist as a thick arm

closes around me.

“Where do you think you’re going, you little thief?" Axel says.

“Let me go!”

"Oh, no, no, no. Not happening, sweet cheeks," the other guy says.

Axel’s arms tighten around me as I struggle against him, trying my damnedest

not to break down again because how embarrassing would it be for him to see me

like that? Crying for real, that is?

I’ve used tears to my advantage before, but no one has seen me in a truly raw

state but Taylor.

I’m not quite back to my confident self yet, and having Axel catch me at my

most vulnerable moment is going to take some extra effort to recover from.

Still, I can feel myself breaking, so I fight harder, fruitlessly struggling against

his grip.

God, this is so humiliating.

Axel will soon learn I got conned myself, what a failure I am all around.

I can’t physically escape him, but I can keep my head on straight, I can stay in

control of my emotions at least.

I struggle to keep it together internally.

And fail.

C H A P T E R 1 1

A X E L

espite my suspicion that this is definitely a con and Jewel has whipped out those

female crocodile tears, part of me softens toward her.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

"Not falling for it," I say firmly, hoping I sound more convincing than I feel.

She continues to bawl and I loosen my grip on her.

She doesn’t try to get away again—she just holds her hands over her eyes as she

lets it all out, her body limp but contracting with the strength of her sobs.

It’s pretty awkward, and Nate suddenly looks as uncertain as I feel, his eyes

darting between her and me.

I gently lead her to the bed and sit her down while Nate stays where he can sort

of block the exit.

“Okay, Jewel. You were obviously distressed before we got here. What

happened?"

She removes her hands from her face and my heart practically melts as she

looks directly into my eyes, her splotchy face still heartbreakingly beautiful, her

blue-gray eyes glistening.

“You don’t understand,” she says so sorrowfully, my heart almost breaks. She

sounds so hopeless. “She was all I had. She left, and she took… everything."

She closes her eyes briefly and gives her head a shake, as if recalibrating, then

restarts.

“My friend, Taylor—we arranged to meet and she drugged me and robbed me of

everything I had. I have nothing left!"

I’m guessing she means my watch too.

I’m still not sure this isn’t yet another con, so I tell her exactly that.

"I don’t believe you, ‘Jewel’,” I say with air quotes this time. “Just give me my

watch back, feel free to keep the cash. And you know what? I’ll do you the favor of

letting it end there—no cops or anything involved. Just don’t let me see your face

again.”

“I don’t have it, Axel! I know you have no reason to believe me, but it’s the

truth. Taylor turned on me; she robbed me blind.”

She dissolves into sobs again.

Shit.

I may or may not end up regretting this, but I believe her, despite logic

screaming at me.

I glance at Nate.

It seems he took a few steps back somewhere along the way, and it almost looks

like he’s about to bolt out of the door.

He has that ‘I just walked in on a fucking couple’ look on his face, like he

accidentally interrupted a private moment.

Poor guy looks so uncomfortable, but I know he’ll stay until I give the word.

I turn back to Jewel.

She is now looking down at her hands absently, sniffing.

There’s such sorrow on her face when she says, "I have no one now," that it

absolutely ruins me.

I can’t believe this, but I feel something hardening inside me, a determination.

A firm decision has been made, despite logic, and I know what it is—there’s no

chance I’m letting her go now.

If Jewel is telling the truth, she won’t have to worry about being alone again; I’ll

make sure of it.

Call me a sucker, but I don’t think I was wrong about her the first time—that she

fit me, that she and I connected in a way I thought was no longer possible. That

what we had was truly special.

But first thing’s first—I’ll help her get revenge while getting my shit back.

“What’s your real name?” I ask gently.

She takes a brief moment before she says, “I’m April.”

Then she looks away, but I don’t think it’s to hide a lie in her eyes.

“April, meet Nate,” I say, gesturing in his direction. “Nate, here’s that girl I was

telling you about.”

Nate tries and fails to suppress a chuckle at my expense, and I swear I hear April

snort too.

“Ah, yes—The one quivering in anticipation of a second round. The one

hounding for a pounding,” he says, probably grateful for a reprieve from the

heaviness of the past few minutes.

I don’t blame Nate for taking a moment to laugh at my expense—I’d think this

whole thing was funny too if it wasn’t my shit involved—but my cheeks heat at his

words, and I almost berate him for saying something so vulgar in front of April.

It seems I had nothing to worry about—April’s face has softened with genuine

humor; she’s not offended at all.

I remind myself I’m not exactly dealing with a delicate li’l thing. Delicate in

some ways, maybe, but the girl has obviously had a tough time for a while.

It’ll take more than a reference to sex to offend her.

She’s not exactly vulgar herself—cursing up a breeze or anything—but she’s no

shy conservative either.

She obviously wasn’t a virgin, and as much as it enrages me to think about, she

probably has had to use her body to get what she needed along the way.

I try to get her to look into my eyes.

“Nice to finally meet you, April. It seems you and I need to have a little talk.”

"I’ll be nearby," Nate says to make sure she knows she’ll have to get by two of us

if she manages to slip away from my grasp.

Somehow, I don’t think she is going to attempt escape again—not yet anyway.

Her whole manner has changed—like she has exhausted all her remaining

energy.

Everything about her has sort of drooped.

Even her hair looks like it has lost some life.

“Tell us more about this Taylor,” I nudge.

"I met her when I was fifteen," she says tiredly. "After I ran away from my last

foster home. My foster dad ..." She shakes her head. "I had to leave there, and even

though I had nowhere to go, I just couldn’t stay there anymore. It wasn’t safe. I

wandered around for a bit and the first night, when it really sunk in I had nowhere

to sleep, I kind of curled up by a garbage bin and cried. Taylor found me and invited

me to stay with her. It was just inside an abandoned car but it was warm and felt a

lot safer than out in the open. We’ve been friends since then and she taught me so

much.”

Jesus, her eyes are filling with tears again.

Her chin is shaking—like she’s about to cry but fighting it.

She seems to have gotten it under control as she begins again.

“I’m pretty damned good at what I do, but Taylor is expert—she taught me

everything I know. She taught me how to work people and situations to my

advantage and I’ve been able to get by all this time because of her. I believed just

about everything she told me back then, and I thought we’d just keep doing this

together.”

I want to ask her why she didn’t transition into more ethical ways of getting

paid, but I don’t want her to feel judged and clam up.

Besides, I guess it’s just one of those things, I guess—once you start, it’s hard to

stop.

The habit and the success rate must’ve been hard to give up.

And how could she not be successful?

She conned the hell out of me and I consider myself pretty damned savvy at this

stage.

She’s got so much going for her—people must fall into her traps so easily.

I sure as hell did.

I settle on what I think is a safer question, but I know it comes with its own

landmines.

"What about your parents?" I ask softly. "Where are they?"

"I never met my dad—not sure if he’s dead or alive, but I suspect dead. And I

think it was too much for my mom, looking out for me by herself. She… " She lets

out an empty laugh. "She sort of ended up just dropping me off at one of those safe

haven spots when I was twelve. A fire station.”

"Uh ..."

"There was a loophole at the time—anyone under eighteen could be legally

abandoned,” she says before I can ask how the fuck dropping off a kid that age was

legal. “Don’t worry, they’ve fixed it since then. Anyway, I was in the system for a

while. No one really wants to adopt older kids; I wasn’t far from being a grown-ass

woman. And eventually, I had a foster dad who noticed. But maybe it was the fact

that I wasn’t actually a woman that got him all excited… ”

Okay, I really don’t want to hear this part.

And I definitely don’t want Nate to hear it.

I mean, sure—she’s a hardened girl, and she has been through a lot and

probably doesn’t let it affect her anymore, but it doesn’t feel right to have Nate

listen to such personal details.

“I’ve got it from here, Nate,” I say after whispering to her to hold up for a sec.

He nods and leaves us.

April continues as if there was no interruption.

“He came into my room one night and touched me. Said he was just checking to

make sure I was there—they had runaways before. But that wasn’t all. I wanted to

believe that was it, but the way his hand moved up my thigh the next time, I knew

things wouldn’t stop there."

I can barely contain my rage.

"He didn’t …?”

She shakes her head quickly.

"He didn’t get to—I ran away before he could get to that point since nobody

believed me. That’s how I ended up on the streets, getting by however I could until

Taylor found me. She has helped take care of me since then. She taught me just

about everything I know about surviving out there. I really thought she was my

friend.” Her voice breaks and my heart follows.

I try to concentrate on anger.

"What’s his name?" I say with every intention of tracking down the son-of-a-

bitch who tried to abuse her and making him pay.

How many girls before and after her ended up being victims?

"It doesn’t matter," she says with resignation.

Yeah, it does.

But I don’t want to derail the roll she’s on right now—I’ll press her for more

details later.

"So your mom ..." I nudge her.

"She didn’t look back. Actually, I tracked her down here. I often wondered if she

regretted it—if she ever looked for me and couldn’t find me and freaked out about

it, not knowing where I was, whether I was dead or alive. And the answer is… " She

finally looks me straight in the eyes. “ … she didn’t. Not one bit. She couldn’t care

less if I was above or below the ground."

“I find that hard to believe.”

She snorts bitterly. “Believe it! Somehow, the woman who dropped her twelve-

year-old off at a fire station and never looked back couldn’t care less about her

twenty-year-old. Oops! Excuse me—twenty-one. It’s my birthday today.”

She looks away again.

My heart aches for her.

The poor girl—she’s been through so much already.

We both lost people important to us but I got to live a life of privilege; I got to

live a life without lack—of material goods, that is.

I get to drown any other sorrows in thousand-dollar bottles of champagne and

wine, while she just has to keep from drowning in every other way.

I can buy all the stability and security I want, but she never gets to feel safe.

I can throw tantrums about twenty-thousand-dollar hotel suites, while she

hopes to find any warm enclosed space.

I suddenly feel like a massive dick.

She’s just so sad, that there’s no space left for me to be mad at her.

And what kind of asshole would I be not to at least pity her?

She’s super young, got abandoned at a young age—I sure as hell know all about

that.

She’s been playing with the cards she got dealt and while I’ve been all pissy

about what my dad did, when the truth is, had my dad not left me ridiculous

amounts of money, I probably could have ended up exactly like her.

I never had to worry about where to sleep, where to eat. How to pay for anything.

My friends are all pretty stable too.

I suddenly notice that, without realizing it, I shifted to cradle her in my arms,

holding her small warm body against my chest.

She is putting up no resistance, her soft body melted into mine.

I fight back the urge to kiss her forehead.

I know this could be another con—part of a long con, maybe—but my gut’s

telling me she’s telling the truth.

Although where was my gut when she first opened that hotel room door?

Still, I give myself a break—my emotions were flying high and the sight of a

half-naked beauty… well, the gut gets talked over pretty quickly.

Urges ruled.

Speaking of urges, I can’t fight the intense need to further calm her down. To

make her feel safe.

I have to look after her.

I have to help her get her shit—and mine—back at the very least.

“What do you say we get out of here, huh?”

“I can’t go back to that suite,” she says quickly.

It takes me half a second, but I understand—she had obtained it by less than

legal means and there was a chance she could be tracked down there.

“Don’t worry, we’ll just go to mine. And the way you look now, no one will

recognize you.”

“Y

C H A P T E R 1 2

A P R I L

ou mind if we sit and talk?” Axel says once we settle in his suite.

It looks like the one I had—five times the size of my last apartment, two

bedrooms with king-sized beds, two bathrooms with jet tubs. Marble floors…

“April?” he says softly, and I realize my mind had wandered.

How considerately and gently said; I almost fell for it.

I follow him to the nearest couch and we sit, facing the fireplace.

I have to keep reminding myself this isn’t real as we settle in on the comfy

seating.

Sure, Axel seems like a nice enough guy, and I am almost uncontrollably

attracted to him, but he’s probably just playing his own game now.

Maybe he really does feel for me, but thanks to my big mouth, he knows what a

horrible criminal I am and about me having done a lot more than take off with his

watch and stuff.

If he’s decent at all, he’ll turn a thief like me in once he gets his shit back; I’m a

menace to society.

But I don’t blame him for playing the good guy. I mean it’s fine for now—we’re

using each other; we’re helping each other with specific personal goals.

He gets his shit back, I get to confront Taylor, although I have no idea what to

say to her, what kind of revenge I can exact.

I guess I just want to look into her face, see if there’s truly not a single sign that

she cared about me. I know she left that letter, but whether I see cold indifference

or a spark of regret, I’ll get some kind of closure.

“So, April, you have a last name?”

My mom supposedly gave me the surname of the man who had fathered me.

I have no real connection to it, so I shake my head.

Axel’s smile is wry.

“I’m not going to turn you in, April.”

“It’s not that,” I say quickly. “It’s just that it doesn’t matter. I belong to no one.

I have no dad—nothing from my sperm donor except what’s supposedly his last

name.”

Axel’s smile disappears and I panic a little; I don’t want to disappoint him. He’s

being so nice to me, whatever his endgame.

“But if you must know. April Sumner,” I say miserably.

I have to turn away from him—the look in his eyes is too much.

He’s not looking judgmental or mad or anything and it’s doing something to me.

He looks like he pities me, like he cares…

Shit, I think as my face starts to scrunch. I’m about to cry again.

It’s too much to have the guy I stole from to sit there pitying me.

God, I’m so off my game.

Taylor’s betrayal made me regress, not only leaving me talking too much but

feeling too much.

Feelings are anathema to this whole thing.

Feelings mean your guard is down, that you’re exposing a vulnerable spot that

can be poked.

Feelings are the beginning of an unraveling.

It’s always best to remain distant—distance allows reason to rule.

The only feelings that can be trusted are gut feelings. Anything higher and your

whole world can come crumbling down because of a misstep guided by stupid-

making emotions.

Already, I’ve broken several cardinal rules: I’ve given my real first name, and

Axel knows what I really look like. He also knows a good chunk of my personal

history.

I’m here with him, having told him more than I’ve ever told anyone since I met

Taylor, and yet he’s looking at me with those fucking sympathetic eyes!

I can’t take this softness from someone I hurt, someone I robbed. I can’t…

“It’s no wonder my mom hates me,” I say tearfully, unable to stop a stupid fat

drop from falling from my eyes. “I’m no good; I’m a criminal. I wonder if she saw it

in me early?”

“April, I’m sure that’s not why your mom dropped you off.”

“How can you be sure? Most of the older drop-offs were troublesome in a way—

emotionally unstable or mentally incapacitated. I looked it up.”

“I’d wager your mom had things going on inside her beyond you,” he says in a

way that gets my attention.

Sounds like personal experience to me, and it’s a good time to take this

uncomfortable spotlight off my life so I say, “Well, what about you? Who are your

parents, Mr. Moneybags?”

He just looks at me for a second then lets out a quick breath.

"My mom and dad are dead and gone, respectively. My mom killed herself. My

dad wasn’t all that good to her, and when she found out he had another family and

was basically living a double life, I guess it was too much for her. I found her

actually—blood and brain matter scattered, dead eyes staring at nothing. I think

part of her still hoped he would stay with her even after she found out about his

infidelity, but he just packed up and left to live with the others, leaving us behind.

I’ve never met his new family. So I’ve got a dad and at least two half-siblings and

it’s as if they’re all dead; I never see them. Lucky for me, my mom died when I was

seventeen—not long from my eighteenth birthday—so none of that living in foster

homes for years stuff. I got emancipated from my dad, and soon, I got to live in a

big old house by myself.”

I can hear the pain in his voice and it’s doing a number on me.

I want to hug him so badly but it feels so inappropriate. Worse, inadequate.

And, you know what? Stupid.

Why should I feel the need to comfort him?

He’s still rich—he never had to sleep in a car or wonder whether or not he’d get

to eat dinner.

Poor people have dead and gone parents too, and on top of that, they have to

worry about stupid basics like food and shelter and dying from curable ills.

At least he had a big old house when he was on his own.

But I guess a house isn’t always the same as a home.

I can’t stop myself from feeling for him, even though he still had huge

advantages.

Then again, at least my mom’s still alive. My dad might be too, whoever he is.

And I certainly never had the horror of finding the person closest to me dead.

Guess everyone’s got their hardships.

“The silver lining is that my dad eventually had some investments pay off big

time and ended up super rich. We were all doing fine before, then he hit a jackpot

and left us, and then he hit a bigger jackpot later and got a huge trust fund together

for me. My college was paid for, and when I was done, I could access what he left

me. I guess he felt like he made things right by giving me a good chunk of his

money; money makes everything right, right?"

He smiles at me and I feel like shit.

I made a lot of assumptions about him, as usual, but you have to be dismissive in

this game—you can’t think about the human behind the mark or else how will you

function?

“I got the money he gave me to grow with solid investments of my own. And

now, I have everything anyone could ever want.”

“Obviously,” I say.

He freezes me with a look.

“Wrong,” he says. “It couldn’t get much better, true, but there is one thing I’d

like to have I’m not sure money can buy.”

“What’s that, Jupiter?”

“No, you,” he says, looking at me intently.

My heart does a flip. He looks so intense, it’s making my beats speed up.

I don’t like the sincerity that appears on his face—it’s confusing me.

It’s making me feel like my chest is opening—like my inside parts are exposed

to the unpredictable outside elements—and I don’t want that.

“I kind of would rather my dad in my life than the money, but…” He shrugs.

“Anyway, that watch you stole from me came from my dad,” he continues softly.

“Oh,” I say guiltily.

I look down, twiddling my fingers.

“I didn’t care about the cash you took—I always bring rolls with me to give away

—but despite my dad and I not having a relationship, that watch meant something

to me."

“I understand,” I say. “And I’m sorry. I was sure it wouldn’t be a big deal.”

“Normally, you’d be right. You just picked the wrong thing from the wrong

guy.”

“I don’t think I picked the wrong guy at all,” I say, then flush with

embarrassment.

What the hell was that?

Panic must’ve shown on my face because then he says gently, “Relax.

Everything will be okay."

But will it?

I’ve got absolutely nothing—not even my usual tools of the trade. I have to start

from scratch in so many ways.

Plus I’m in the custody of a man I robbed, so I’m not sure I can trust what he

says and yet… fuck. I do.

I don’t know why, but when he looks at me the way he’s looking at me, I don’t

think he’ll hurt me.

I know I’m being stupid and letting feelings get in the way, and considering

everything that’s happened, I should definitely be more cautious and suspicious

and not trust this gorgeous hunk as far as I can throw him, but I can’t stop myself!

Losing control like this is one of the scariest things in the world.

“So. Before we get to planning, how about we get to know each other a bit

better? Lighter stuff, that is. For example, where are you from?”

Phew! Change of subject.

Still, that’s too much goddamn information he’s asking.

“I’ve been living in L.A.,” I say, dodging.

“So what made you move to L.A.?”

“I was a small-town girl at heart with big dreams. I thought I could make

something of myself moving to L.A., but damn—it’s full of pretty people. It’s easy

to think you’re something when you shine in your own small town, but a lot of

small town pretties get the same idea, and I found myself surrounded by pretties

from all around the goddamn world. Some with actual training, better résumés.

Apparently, types like me are a dime a dozen.”

I chuckle a bit.

“I doubt that,” Axel says. “I’m not surprised the castings might not exactly be

nuanced, or that you’d mistake a bunch of girls sharing similar physical

characteristics for proof of being generic. But, April, you’re more amazing, more

unique than you’re aware of. No doubt it’s part of why I’m drawn to you.”

My cheeks flush with burning heat.

What the hell is this guy trying to do to me?

“Anyway, sounds like we’re both gamblers. Although having seen others flush

their lives down the drain because of excessive risk-taking, I guess you can consider

me a cautious gambler. Usually. Obviously, I took a gamble on you, and strangely

enough, here I am, doing it again. Maybe I’m more like my brother than I thought,”

he says, his voice trailing off a bit.

“Wait, your brother?”

I can immediately tell I’ve hit another of his sorest spots.

“I used to have an older brother—until he became a victim of his gambling

addiction.”

“What happened to him?”

“Presumed dead. He liked to take risks and some of them did not pay off.

Ultimately, he couldn’t pay off a gambling debt, and we haven’t heard from him

since. We never even got a body to bury.”

“Wait, but then he could still be alive…"

“Doubt it. We suspect he has been neatly disposed of. My mom still held out

hope, though, probably until the day she died. Somehow, the lack of any sign of

him told her there’s a chance he still exists whole somewhere, that he could turn

up someday instead of the greater likelihood he has been completely dissolved in

acid.”

Axel pauses in a loaded way, like he’s waging a battle.

“It’s been about eight years since my brother paid with his life for his debt.”

“But Axel, dead men can’t pay bills. Was there any conclusive sign?"

“We received a package one day. I wasn’t allowed to see the contents, but after

that, my parents totally lost hope and we had a funeral and everything. Whatever

was in that package was enough to have a death certificate issued.”

Everything in me plummets.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, looking away.

“Thanks. Needless to say, I got soured on that sort of risky behavior pretty early

—some consequences were pretty damned clear. So even though I play around, I

don’t have a problem stopping. It’s like my dead brother sits on my shoulder while

I’m at a table and whispers in my ear, Time to go! It’s sort of ridiculous

considering…” He stops and looks at me. It seems he thought twice about saying

whatever he’s about to say next but decided to go with it anyway. “…I have plenty

of money. More than I can spend in this lifetime. Not to rub it in.”

“So wait—how come he couldn’t pay his debt if you guys were so rich?”

“That happened after. It was just his luck that some of my dad’s investments

started paying off after he ‘disappeared.’"

He shrugs as if it’s all casual, and being able to see through it—witnessing the

renewed pain of his losses plainly on his face—makes me ache for him.

He hasn’t really had it as easy as I thought.

I wish I could help him; reduce the pain somehow.

I look away instead.

“I still can’t believe how nice you’re being,” I say softly. “Despite experiencing

this sort of thing on a smaller scale before.”

I shake my head.

“You know, I’ve been taught that most people are essentially selfish, evil even.

But you know what? Since I’ve been working like this, I’ve discovered that

sickeningly, most people actually want to be good. I can tell that even jaded ones

who tell me no want to say yes so badly, but they don’t want to be a fool. In that

moment, they want to be smart and safe, not good and stupid. But sometimes, even

when they suspect they’re being conned, it’s like they can’t risk it—they can’t risk

turning down the young girl who says she got robbed and is just looking for enough

for an Uber to get back home. They can’t live with the thought that maybe that sad-

faced girl might actually go hungry tonight if they keep it moving and don’t give

her a fiver.”

My eyes well again and I feel Axel’s arms wrap around me.

“I have no doubt you killed it in the streets, April. How many could really resist

you? I certainly can’t, despite everything.”

His voice is deep and gentle and pierces the most hidden parts of me, awakening

all sorts of parts that have been asleep.

Our eyes meet, and I’m surprised the lights don’t go out as the room is suddenly

and heavily charged.

C H A P T E R 1 3

A X E L

he air is heavy. Not because of sadness or regret; there’s not a hint of anger or

sorrow.

The air crackling with electricity.

Desire courses between April and me, and though she is avoiding my eyes, I

know April feels it as strongly as I do.

My cock is swelling, filling with need.

I know April wants me too, but it seems she’s hesitant about how I would receive

her.

Her own emotions are eclipsing her gut—like mine did when I first met her.

She’s probably wondering, Will he think seduction is part of my new plan? Will

he get suspicious and stop trusting me? Will he be disgusted if I’m forward about

this and reject me?

If she could quiet her brain screaming at her that I’m likely disgusted with her, if

she could stop beating herself up for being unveiled as a lowly thief, she would hear

her gut whispering, It doesn’t matter what you’ve done, he still wants you.

Because I do. Badly, and in every way.

I’ll show her.

I pull her into my arms, rubbing her back a little as I hold her, trying to reassure

her with my body that I forgive her, that it will be okay, that she is safe now.

I know it will probably take a while for her to accept that, but I have to start

somewhere. I can at least show her that I still want her.

I tilt her chin up, and after a moment of hesitation, she gazes up at me, her

blue-gray eyes searching mine, softening parts of me while others harden more.

I bring my lips to hers.

Tingles of electricity light up my mouth at the contact with hers.

I want to say I don’t know what this is charging my body like this, but I do, and

man, is it frightening because I know it’s not just lust.

April has way too much power over me—I’m far too invested in protecting her,

ensuring her happiness.

Here we are, sharing a soft kiss, a tentative kiss, and it is shaking everything up

in me.

I’ve never felt so raw—well, not since the last time I let myself be open to a

woman, the one who imparted the most important lessons to me about the fairer

sex as she fooled me into giving her access to a chunk of money—do not trust

lightly.

But this thing between April and me—I’m not letting myself be open this time,

something else has the reins, something else is in control. I can’t help myself, and I

don’t even care to stop what’s happening. Even after knowing what April is capable

of, here I am, vulnerable to her, open to any weapon she can use against me.

All that matters is that she’s here with me, in my arms.

Warmth runs through me again.

Her lips are so sweet.

She tries to deepen our kiss and I let her, but I don’t let her drag us to the

bedroom.

I can feel she wants to get past this part and get down to the basics, and I think I

understand why.

I can feel it as strongly from her as it radiates from me—she is soft, open, and

vulnerable against any weapon I can use against her.

But there’s only one tool I have aimed at her.

We explore each other’s mouths I feel her melting for me, her remaining walls

crumbling down.

Only then do I move my lips to her neck, and her head arches back as she lets me

nibble on her.

"Axel," she whispers, and the way she says it twists me.

She sounds like she’s pleading, begging for some sort of mercy.

My thumb grazes her cheek as my lips make their way further down to her

delicate shoulders.

She’s so small, her skin is so soft.

She feels so delicate and everything in me wants to make sure she’s protected

and safe from now on.

I don’t want her to feel the type of despair that seemed to take over her today

ever again.

I pull her top off and she works on my shirt.

Once we’re both a bit more exposed, she pulls her lips away and starts kissing

my chest.

It is both adorable and maddening, and my cock throbs with need even more.

I realize where she is headed as she works on pulling my pants off.

She wants to pleasure me more this time, but I suspect that’s not all.

She has found another way to get to the heart of the matter, so to speak, to

distract me from exploring her, making her a victim of my soft touches.

I almost stop her but I realize it is something she needs to do.

She pulls my cock out as my pants fall to the floor and she lowers herself until

she is kneeling before me.

My heart cracks when she looks up at me with her wide eyes, and I know I am

done for as our eyes lock for a few moments.

Then she grabs my cock and starts licking it, and it gets harder in her warm

grasp.

She teases the head of it with her soft lips, then with flickers of her warm wet

tongue.

She licks my shaft, giving each side attention before suddenly closing her mouth

over me.

She moves her mouth, bobbing her head over the lucky first few inches while

her small hand works the rest of my shaft.

She slides her palm to my balls, cupping them before sliding her hand back up to

the base of my shaft as she licks and sucks my cock, torturing undersides with her

tongue.

Then she suddenly pulls her mouth away, leaving it missing her warmth briefly,

before I’m distracted by her tongue on my balls.

She licks and cups them, then trails her tongue up my shaft before swallowing

my cock again.

She starts moving more aggressively, bobbing and sucking and licking, making

me never want it to end, no matter how much I’d like to bury my cock in her pussy.

When she moans against my shaft, I shoot closer to climax, the vibration

catching me by welcome surprise.

She looks so sexy, and her small warm mouth feels so good, her tiny hands

trying to grip my engorged cock, unable to fully wrap around it—all of it brings me

closer and closer to spurting in her mouth.

But I don’t want to end there.

I let her bring me closer to the edge, gently grabbing her head and moving her

mouth over me, thrusting into her beautiful face until I feel my balls start to draw

up.

Then I pull away from her quickly, my cock regretfully leaving her warm mouth,

stopping her from taking me over the edge.

“Get up,” I say, my voice thick with desire.

She obeys, watching me closely.

I pick her up and carry her to the nearest bed, laying her flat on her back, her

nude body an open feast for me.

I begin by leaning over, and I watch the happy anticipation fill her eyes as our

bodies line up.

But instead of working my cock inside of her, I lean to her neck, delivering kiss

upon kiss, nibbling the delicate flesh and making her squirm.

Her hands travel my body, and I can feel her need, smell her desire.

I know it’s driving her crazy that my hard, throbbing cock is poised above her

sopping wet pussy, I know she wants me to drive it into her more than anything,

but I’m nowhere near done with exploring the rest of her body yet.

I can tell she’s never had such attention paid before, and I’m happy to show her

all sorts of new pleasures.

My lips travel from her neck to her shoulders, and she’s letting out these soft

little whimpers that are short-circuiting my brain, driving me nuts and chipping

away at my control.

It takes iron willpower to keep going instead of plunging into her depths to calm

the sharp tingles shooting through my body at those delicate feminine sounds, the

raging need to relieve my throbbing cock, the mad desire to be one with her.

I slide my lips to her chest, going for one breast, engulfing it in my mouth,

running my tongue over her mound of soft flesh, teasing her nipple before moving

to the next and giving it the same treatment while my hand holds the one deprived

of my mouth.

Then I pull away to kiss my way down her abdomen, her flesh jumping a bit at

the soft contact.

I love the way she writhes. I love drowning her in sweet torture.

“Axel,” she begs breathily, though I’m not sure for what, although I have a few

guesses.

I savor the hoarse sound of her pleading voice but continue my way down,

stopping just above the bud calling for me, the clit begging to be licked.

Instead, I slide to the joints of her thighs, teasing her by kissing all around the

parts she wants touched most. I nibble her inner thighs, kiss below her belly

button.

Then finally, I bring my mouth to her drenched pussy lips.

She cries out deliciously, writhing even more, her hand grabbing my head.

I suck her lips, darting my tongue between her folds, teasing her with flickers at

her entrance, swiping my tongue over all her peaks and valleys.

Then I fasten my mouth on her clit, sucking and licking the hood, holding her

thighs down as she squirms and moans wildly.

It’s apparently too much for her, and she starts fucking my face, and before I can

pull away, she comes hard against my exploring mouth, flooding the soft sheets

beneath her more.

I let her ride out her first climax, watching her beautiful face slacken, a hint of a

smile on her lips as she lies with her eyes closed.

Then I move to cover her, wanting to feel the last pulses of her orgasm before

sending her to another one, one I can hopefully share.

Her body is limp but open to me, and I stare at her until she opens her beautiful

eyes.

When she does, she smiles sweetly, and both my cock and heart throb.

How does she make me feel so goddamned much?

I don’t really care for answer—all that matters is what I feel and rolling with it.

I bring the head of my cock to her soaked middle, rubbing it in her wetness a bit

and teasing more squirming from her as I slide the smooth tip over her feminine

folds. Then I find her soaked entrance and start pushing in.

She arches her back as I enter her in one smooth motion, not stopping until I

have bottomed out, balls-deep inside her slick, pulsing warmth.

I stay still for a moment, savoring the closeness of our warm bodies, the long

reach of my hard dick inside her welcoming body.

Then I start moving, sliding my cock out a bit before pushing it back inside her,

finding a rhythm that won’t take me to the edge too soon as I plunder her delicious

body.

She is looking at me a certain way, and I think I know what she means—I want it

too.

I bend my head to kiss her.

Her canal floods more as our mouths meet, my tongue exploring her oral cavern

while my cock drives in and out of her juicy peach below.

Soon, I can’t take it anymore and I increase my rhythm, fucking her harder and

faster, slamming into her with relentless thrusts as my need increases.

I can’t think about anything—only feel as her delightful pussy massage takes

me closer and closer to the edge.

Her hands slide over my back then come to rest on my ass cheeks as they rise

and fall with my hard thrusts.

Kissing her while she caresses and holds me, my greedy cock plugged into her

tight, warm body, I start tumbling over the edge, April’s body gripping me in a way

that lets me know she’s on her way too.

I push harder and faster, our skin slapping together lightly, and April’s mouth

suddenly leaves mine as she screams her orgasm, just as I start shooting my jets

into her.

I ride her through my orgasm and hers, slowing down my thrusts a bit, feeling as

if I’m going deaf and blind as we pulse against each other, my throbbing cock still

buried deep within her pulsating canal as her body floods even more.

I feel one with her, far beyond the physical.

If April thinks she’s getting away from me now, she’s fucking crazy; I’m never

letting her go.

I collapse on top of her, then remember how tiny she is and try to redistribute

my weight.

She laughs a little and it warms me.

I don’t even know what amused her for sure but I hope to push that button

again.

“Don’t worry about it,” she says. “I can take it for now; you don’t have to

move.”

I want to relax but I don’t want to crush her, nor do I want to move off her.

She wraps her arms and legs around me.

“Don’t worry about it,” she says again. “I like this.”

I finally relax, savoring the feel of her soft breasts against my hard thumping

chest, dreading the moment my cock finally softens and slips from her.

I want to stay connected to her.

At some point, without actively moving off of her, I fall dead asleep.

PARTIII

ILLUSION&REALITY

All warfare is based on deception.

— S U N T Z U

C H A P T E R 1 4

A P R I L

t wasn’t a dream.

My eyes open and I see Axel still asleep next to me and relief floods me.

I’m not sure why I’m so relieved—he could be the key to my arrest, my

destruction, one way or another, but it calms me that he is by my side, even if he’s

just biding his time to get his revenge.

I know all about the long con, though I never use it in relationships because I’ve

never been in one that had me so emotionally entangled that I went on scorned

woman path of rage and destruction.

Taylor has, though. Although, who knows if that story she told me is even true?

Maybe she just told it to me to demonstrate a point, as I eventually realized she did

quite often.

It just became too coincidental that she had an experience for every lesson she

wanted to impress upon me.

I don’t want to disturb Axel—he looks so peaceful—so I quietly make my way to

the furthest bathroom.

God, I’m so gross. Axel left his mark all over me.

And inside me.

Shit. I have to remember to take plan B asap.

Damn it, I can’t think properly when I’m around him.

Once I shower, I just wrap a towel around myself until I notice an actual

bathrobe. Leave it to these fancy rooms to anticipate all needs.

I study Axel’s handsome face for a bit, then I head over to the desk and grab the

hotel pen and notepad.

I feel inspired, and though I don’t exactly have the right tools, I make do,

sketching out what’s in my head.

Then I hop back into bed with Axel, wanting to share his warmth again.

Who knows how long I’ll have the chance? I better enjoy this while I can.

No man has ever made me feel like this, no man has ever given me pleasure the

way Axel did last night.

I snuggle up next to him, and despite my intentions not to disturb him, Axel

turns to me and I wait for his eyes to open—the first split-second reaction is

usually the most honest and revealing.

When his eyes open, he immediately smiles and I don’t catch a hardened look in

them at all, one that would indicate what he really thinks of me, one that’ll give an

idea what actually he has planned.

His eyes are immediately warm and… I’m not sure how to describe it, but it

makes me feel like my heart is liquefying.

"Hey," he says softly. "Was hoping you’d still be here. Had a nightmare you

ditched me again."

He is still smiling warmly and I don’t know what to say.

His eyes look so affectionate.

He reaches over and caresses my arm.

"Um, I’m hungry," I say, and my stomach takes that moment to let out the most

embarrassing growl. As if I’m not dealing with enough already.

I look away, my cheeks heating terribly.

I hear a light chuckle before a finger grabs my chin, nudging me to look back

into Axel’s sparkling green eyes.

"I’ll take care of it. I’ll take care of you, April," he says gently, then grabs me

until I’m lying on top of him, laughing as the sheet falls away and our chests and

stomachs meet skin to skin once more.

"Hello! Present at Morning Wood Academy," I say, trying to be light and funny

but sounding totally awkward.

He smiles. "It’s not just sex, April. We have something here. I know you feel it—

I can see it in your eyes." He brings his lips to mine and I get lost in his kiss.

What the hell is this feeling? It’s like I can’t control it, but I kind of don’t want

to?

For no good reason at all, I trust it to lead me to some kind of heaven, and I can’t

do anything about it.

I don’t like the hold it has on me, but for now, I want to see where it leads.

I know, I know—curiosity killed the cat and all that, but damn it, what we have

feels too good and I’m going with it for as long as I can.

"I’ll order in room service but we should probably get going… "

He stops and sort of freezes when I start rubbing my smooth, slick mound on his

stiff erection.

No reason we can’t squeeze another quickie in before we get a proper move on

the day.

Besides, I plan to savor every moment I have left with him, including, or

especially this part.

I want to, but I can’t believe for a moment he’s actually going to stay with me

and try to give this… thing between us a real shot.

I grab his engorged rod, positioning it so that his tip is just at my entrance, then

prepare myself for a ride as I lower myself on it.

o you have any idea where she might be?" Axel asks as he moves around our

little buffet table.

He’s still wet from our shower, wearing only a white towel around his waist and

making me want to jump his bones again.

Lucky for him, I’m a little distracted by the spread before me: the various

arrangements of eggs, the fruit, and things I don’t recognize. I think Axel said

something about caviar. I mean, who does that? For breakfast?

"Taylor is excellent at dancing around specifics. The only info I have is that she

was working a job that apparently didn’t quite work out as she’d hoped. But, of

course, that whole thing could have been a lie too."

I roll my eyes.

“Plus she can be pretty hard to spot. Last time I saw her, she was sporting black

hair. By now, she could be a blonde with a pixie wearing dark brown contacts. The

only thing distinctive on her that she has a hard time covering up is her scar.” I

make a motion with my finger. “It’s right here on her cheek.”

"Good to know. But keep thinking—anything she said before or after you guys

got here could help. I’ll chase whatever name she checked into the motel you were

in... "

I’m just shaking my head because fat chance she’ll check in under that name

again.

And then it hits me.

"Wait, I’ve got it!"

Axel’s eyes turn to focus on me, and I get that warm, tingly feeling running

through me again, the horrifying impression that I won’t know what to do with

myself if I don’t get to look into those green eyes of his every day from now on.

"She’ll want more where that came from. A bird in the hand is worth two in the

bush, right?"

He smiles like he has some inside joke about it.

"She knows a lot about you—I told her what you look like, and she knows you’re

loaded. She knows you fall quite easily for a pretty young thing… "

He sort of rolls his eyes at that and I ignore it.

"You’re a well that hasn’t really been tapped—I just took a sip. Taylor knows

there’s a lot more where that came from and that you won’t know her by sight. If

she ran into you, she’d try to suck more out of you, one way or another."

I have to fight the rage filling me at the thought of her trying to come on to him,

offering to blow him, touching him in any manner.

Great, now I’m suddenly jealous too.

"We can use you as bait,” I press on. “She knows I had no plans to come back

here since I stole that suite because it’s too dangerous. You or the people whose

credit I used could have people all around here looking for me, and after a hit like

that, you don’t go back to the scene of the crime—at least, not unless heavily

disguised. And she took all my disguises with her.

"I told her everything you told me—about your friends being there and

everything. She has enough intel to begin. She knows a bunch of young rich guys

are around, ripe for the plucking, and she knows how to find you guys by spotting

you."

"So what exactly did you tell her about me?" he asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

He’s so cute, even when he’s infuriating.

"Frickin’ everything. I should have known something was up when she asked

me for details. Height, eye and hair color, what you were wearing. That your wrist is

obviously missing a watch," I say with a nod at the paler, watch-shaped piece of

skin on his arm. “You’re an easy target for her, so she’ll troll the casinos looking

for you—while keeping her eyes open for other opportunities."

"Okay, well, that does it! I’ll get my rugged handsome look together and get

ready to sing my siren song for your friend. Is she as hot as you?"

I slap him on the arm.

"Just need to know how much acting skill I’ve gotta use here."

I smile but wonder, Would he find her hot?

She’s attractive enough, and definitely charming when she wants to be.

Could Axel find himself pulled to her?

She’s obviously more masterful at this whole thing than me, and he’s a rich

playboy stringing me along until he gets his watch back.

Would he go further than necessary to humiliate both Taylor and me? Would he

fuck her too?

"You can stay here; in fact, I definitely hope you’ll be here when I return. I

already told you I’m not pressing charges or anything.”

He goes to his crumpled clothes and pulls out a wallet.

So he didn’t even bother to hide it away in a safe or anything—he trusted me to

not run off with it.

Interesting.

He pulls some bills from it and holds them out to me.

“Here—I want you to get some new clothes and whatever you might need. I

know Taylor cleaned you out and as much as I’d love for you to remain naked, we’ll

probably go to dinners and other dates at some point and you should probably wear

something then.”

I return his smile, then grab and count the bills, thinking.

His face takes on a worried look. "Is it not enough? I can… "

"It’s way more than I need. Where do you think I shop?" I say. “This can stock

my closet for a week!"

"Then it’s obviously not enough. I meant for you to buy more than a week’s

worth of stuff. I’m obviously keeping you longer than that so we’ll work on the rest

later."

“So is this some sort of bribe? ‘More where that came from, babe—as long as

you’re here when I get back,” I say in a horrible imitation of his voice.

His smile widens.

"Maybe," he says, then he notices my sketch on the desk. “What’s this?” he

asks, going over to it.

I happily bound up to him.

“Just something I threw together this morning while you were still asleep. I got

inspired and this is just some stupid comic starring you and me.”

I smile, feeling strangely self-conscious all of a sudden.

I can really draw—it’s not like I threw down some stick figures, but I’m a little

embarrassed about the representations of us, I guess.

I drew us as sort of partners in crime, although just in the figurative sense

because we’re on the right side of the law—except for the vigilante part, I guess.

We’re both masked caped crusaders, and it’s just a few stupid panels of us

tracking down a jewel thief, one who happens to resemble Taylor, and our triumph

in the end. And then the two of us sharing a victory kiss.

Axel looks amused, impressed.

When he finishes checking it out, he looks at me, and I try to ignore how much it

looks like he’s drinking me in, how much it seems he’s truly in amazement of me.

My instinct to flee is strong, but something inside me is starting to rival it in

strength with the opposite intention.

C H A P T E R 1 5

A X E L

pril is full of surprises.

Whether she realizes it or not, she told me a lot more in her comic than the story

of some quickie crime-fighting tale.

The way she drew us, the way she ended it—she wants us to be together, but she

might not have admitted it to herself yet.

She certainly hasn’t admitted it to me, and she still seems a bit jumpy and

unsure, so I know it’s a huge risk separating from her.

There’s a bigger chance April will run off with the cash I gave her, deciding that

it’s more than enough to make her Vegas conning trip successful, but even if that

were the case, I can’t stand the idea of her being broke and alone, so I really don’t

care if she takes my money.

I want April to be able to buy whatever she needs, but most of all, I want her to

stick around instead; I want her to stay with me.

I’m not even concerned if she’s still conning me because she’s here with me

right now.

She seems like she needs money, I have loads of it, and if she ends up staying

with me longer because I am her access to it, I don’t think I’ve ever spent money on

a more worthy cause.

To be honest, the best part of all this money is buying things that please me,

things that entertain me.

Guys who go to the strip club and make it rain—if that shit actually makes them

happy, then it’s totally worth it.

People pay millions for paintings, for houses they rarely live in, for surgeries

they don’t need. The whole point is to buy some peace and happiness, to be able to

get what you want, when you want it.

And I want April. I especially want April to be happy, cared for. Safe.

Time will tell whether she’ll make me have to track her down again or not.

I think we had a sort of breakthrough, and I’m more inclined to think she knows

the value of what we have and wants to see where it goes too.

But first thing’s first: we need to find that bitch who hurt her. And get my

goddamned watch back.

send April away with a driver to do her first round of shopping.

I had some clothes and toiletries delivered to the suite for her since all she had

was the clothes she’s been wearing the past two days, and she happily finally

changed out, but she insisted she needed to go shopping for some distinct things by

herself.

I supplied her with a new phone so she can reach me, and I her and told a few

people to keep an eye on her, but I trust she’ll return.

Meanwhile, I’m bringing Nate up-to-date on our plans, and he and I are putting

phase two into motion.

When April texts me to say she’s back in our room, I practically bolt out of his

suite with a promise to check back in with him soon.

I re-enter my suite, my blood rushing through my body in anticipation of seeing

April again.

"Check out my new look!" April says brightly as she exits one of the bathrooms

in a red bob wig and black-framed glasses.

She looks pretty nerdy—like she’s been working as a librarian a few years, but

she’s still damned cute. Even with that horrible unflattering blouse covering up

most of her assets.

“What’s that for?” I ask, unable to hide my amusement.

“I’m coming too! I’ll hang out in the casino or something, maybe play a few

slots.” Off my look, she says, “I want to see you catch her! And I don’t want to be

recognized.”

“Nah, you don’t have to do that. You don’t have to put yourself out there again.”

“Well, even so, too many people around here have seen me in my natural state. I

need to stay disguised.”

“Who else is looking for you that really matters? I found you.”

“Exactly. Which means others can. I only have one set of folks potentially on my

tail, but with the kind of money I can use their plastic to book a suite with, they

have the resources to find me too.”

“Fine, disguise all you want, but don’t hang out down there. Go shopping again

—grab something nice for dinner tonight; I can send someone with you to pick out

a dress, shoes, and jewelry. Don’t worry about any of this, April; Nate and I will take

care of it. Just meet me back here later. I should have one heck of a story to tell you

when I return.”

She nods, looking a bit disappointed.

I fill her in on the current plan.

I’m pretty much going to be doing what I would have been doing whether I’d run

into April or not, hanging with my buds, working a table. Except I’ll be waiting for a

certain scar-faced chick to scope me out.

I hand her some more bills and April agrees to go shopping for a few hours—for

real clothes this time—and if everything works out, we’ll be back here, wrapped in

each other’s arms before we know it.

When we kiss goodbye, I feel like a fucking newlywed who just got back from the

honeymoon and is heading off to work.

I don’t want to go. I want to bask in whatever this is we have a little longer, stay

soaked in her presence.

April is amazing.

I want to look into those eyes of hers, watch the cute way she smiles—sort of

lopsidedly, a faint dimple on one cheek.

She’s so beautiful and underneath it all, she’s sweet. Despite everything.

I’ve seen so many sides of her, and I’m not certain of all the real ones just yet,

but my gut believes the best of her.

She’s strong, obviously, considering all she went through, but she’s soft and

vulnerable in a way that I’m helpless against. All I want to do is make sure she

doesn’t hurt again.

I want her to feel, safe, protected, loved.

I shake my head like I’m trying to shake sense back in.

She’s sort of a femme fatale, a deadly combination of striking good looks,

charm, femininity, and strength. Sonnets and plays have been written about

women like her. For all I know, she’s a black widow spider.

And yet I’m happily floating right into her web.

Fuck.

I don’t know how she got me like this—how she managed to get in so quickly,

but she is a skilled con artist, after all.

’m bummed I haven’t hit Baccarat yet, but the more public craps table works best

for our plans.

“All set up,” Nate says quietly.

I nod in acknowledgment.

“Can’t wait to get this over with so I can get back to April.”

Nate chuckles a bit. "You really like her," he says.

"Hm? Yeah, well, I said that before. She’s cute, she’s interesting... "

"No, I mean, really like her. I’d even venture to say you’ve fallen in love with

her.”

He lets out a strange sort of laugh—like a cough of amusement.

"What? That’s kind of ridiculous. We’ve known each other, what—a few days?"

"You know how long my parents knew each other before they decided to get

married? A week. They just knew the other was right for them. They both felt it—

which is important by the way, because I’ve witnessed some one-sided messes—

and they’re still married today, over twenty-five years later. And still sickeningly in

love, I’ll add—over two decades later, and they still think each other’s the best

thing since sliced bread. Even after having us!"

"That’s pretty rare, though."

"But obviously, it happens, which was my whole point. Time isn’t really the

main factor when it comes to stuff like this. Meanwhile, my brother dated a girl for

almost two years before he finally dumped her and put them both out of their

misery. He never told her he loved her because he didn’t—he never fell in love with

her. He had all kinds of time and it just didn’t happen. They kept trying to make it

work because on paper, they were a match made in heaven, but they just didn’t

click. You and April, you obviously click. I wouldn’t blame you one bit if you didn’t

want to let her go.”

He shakes his head a bit. “I’ve never seen you like this—not after she-who-

will-not-be-named anyway, and I just want the best for you. Despite the stress, it

seems April can really make you happy, just by being with you, so if she feels the

same, you guys should go for it. Strike while the iron’s hot.”

I stay quiet for a bit, processing his words despite trying not to.

I mean I guess I could be falling in love with her a bit, but it’s a tough thing to

accept.

“Listen, I don’t need to think about that right now. The most important thing is

that I get my damned watch back. I’ll see where to go from there.”

Man, it’s uncomfortable talking about that sort of thing.

I guess it’s mainly scary, having feelings like that about someone. I feel

vulnerable in a way I haven’t felt in a while.

I know exactly where something like that leads—heartache. Possibly

devastation.

Some people never recover from that, like my mom.

Loving someone else means everything about your own life is on the line in a

way it wasn’t before. You’re exposed.

I’m definitely not sure that’s the direction I want to head.

People can potentially hurt me through her, and I’m not a fan of being

controlled by someone else, having someone control me by using someone else.

Since getting over my dad leaving and being on my own in a world where money

talks and having lots of it means I get my way the vast majority of times, caring

about someone is a weakness I don’t care to feel—not when otherwise, I’m in a

position where I’m in control.

With my mom and older brother gone, it was just me to worry about and I like it

that way—it makes me feel pretty damned invincible.

feel eyes on me.

It happens all the time—women liking what they see, trying to figure out how to

approach me, or how much I’m worth. Fleeting glances, extended stares as they

size me up.

But this one feels different, in a way that distinctly makes me feel like prey, and

not just for sexual predation.

Then the feeling is gone, and I patiently wait for the predator to appear.

Pete joins us and says something I laugh heartily at, despite not knowing what

the fuck he said—something about his latest conquest, no doubt—and I feel the

preying girl before I see her as she sidles right up to my arm.

I turn and stare into a pair of hazel eyes and smile.

She is blonde—likely a wig, according to April—and she has a light scar on her

cheek.

I smile back at her invitingly.

y arm is around Taylor’s waist as she blows on my die for the third time.

The crowd is cheering, hooting and hollering and waiting to see if this is the

moment my luck ends.

I roll the die and win again.

Taylor cheers and claps so convincingly and sweetly that, pre-April, I might

have gotten suckered in.

"Let’s get out of here," I whisper seductively in her ear.

We make our way to the room Nate booked for us, and Taylor is gazing up at me

adoringly.

The girl is damned good, but wait till she sees what’s on the other side of that

door.

C H A P T E R 1 6

A P R I L

couldn’t help it—I had to see what was happening with the plan, and now I wish I

didn’t.

Taylor looks really pretty in a soft, natural way, a way that makes her stand out

among overly made-up tramps nearby.

I’ve changed my look again so Axel won’t recognize me if his eyes happen to

scan the crowd while I watch the two of them—I’ve got wavy black hair now, and

I’m wearing a sort of frumpy outfit so no one bothers me.

Axel and Taylor look far too cozy, his inviting gazes, far too convincing.

Is he really that good?

If so, he easily played me, for sure.

It sickens me the way Taylor is staring up at him, and nausea fills me once his

arm wraps around her.

But it’s like I can’t look away—like a bad car wreck you know can traumatize you

if you keep your eyes on it long enough to spot dead, mangled bodies.

"You’ve got your eye on that one?" I hear a feminine voice say too near my ear.

I turn toward the voice and see a brunette girl I do not recognize looking at me

with sea-green eyes.

She’s cute—pretty, even—but she doesn’t exactly give off warm vibes, despite

the open friendliness in her tone and the sort of smile on her face.

She looks like she’s making a concerted effort to relax her face so she looks open

and friendly.

Too calculated.

"Excuse me?” I say politely.

She nods in Axel’s direction.

"The one in the blue shirt? Axel, I think his name is."

"What’s it to you?"

"I’m just here to warn you, girl. If you’re looking for a good time in the sack,

then he’s definitely the one; I couldn’t stop thinking about him the last time he

was here. To be totally honest, I’m hoping to get a piece of him again before he

leaves this time, after that blonde. But if you think you’ll get more out of him than

a good fuck, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

I have to check a fierce surge of jealousy running through me.

My hands are practically twitching, but my voice is calm and even when I speak

again.

"What do you care?” I ask the stranger casually, examining her round face.

Now she sort of laughs, and it actually seems genuine, confusing me.

"To be honest, I’m just hoping I don’t have to wait longer because of you. No

offense. But a ride with him is worth waiting for either way.”

Despite wanting to choke her, I like her honesty; I like forthright people, in

general, ironically.

In another life, another moment involving a different guy, I could see this girl

and me being almost-friends, but she has the worst timing.

I’m not in the mood for self-serving advice from horny strangers, especially

when it’s concerning something close to me. Something I consider mine now, I

guess.

I’m not in a charitable mood, period.

But I can’t let on the effect her words have on me.

"Been there, done that," I say casually, matching her lightness while still trying

to shake off her words and shove her out of my face without actually punching her.

But I have no doubt I’ve pulled off the indifferent manner I was going for; I’m

still a pro, after all, and no matter what she’s implying, Axel and I have something

pretty special, despite his past. And I feel pretty secure in it.

It’s just best not to let that on; I can’t let her know how I feel about him. I can’t

tell her that he and I are truly connected, and it goes far beyond our bodies joining.

I can’t tell her she doesn’t have a chance in hell hopping back in the sack with

him.

Some girls find something like that a welcome challenge.

Oh, you’re so precious to him? You think you’re so great? Let’s just see about

that.

That was another easy lesson for me—never let anyone know your true

weaknesses; don’t let on what gets to you. Don’t you dare offer up a vulnerable spot

someone can poke—most people seem to get tempted to poke it at some point,

even if just for temporary kicks.

People love watching you squirm, they love needling others, throwing them off

for a moment, kicking shit up in other people’s faces.

It gives them a small moment of power, and everyone craves power to some

degree.

"Okay, good,” the brunette says with a wider grin, her emerald eyes sparkling.

Then her eyes sweep over me. "Hey, maybe we could both have a go with him

later.” She suddenly looks a bit shy. “I think you’re pretty hot too, and I actually

don’t mind sharing. I’m not inclined one way or another… ”

"Thanks, but I actually have to take off,” I say, thumbing in a different direction.

“I’ve got other things to see and people to do.” I waggle my eyebrows.

She laughs musically.

"Okay, well, if you ever change your mind, I’ll be around.”

She seems truly open and friendly this time, and I briefly wonder if I was her

target all along.

I smile politely and turn to leave as if I’m heading out, but I just move to another

spot to watch Taylor and Axel from when she’s not looking.

I don’t even know why I got jealous about that whole thing with Axel—it’s

obvious he wasn’t exactly a virgin; we’ve both had lives before meeting each other.

His dalliances are in the past, so what do I care?

Why do I even care if Taylor gets to have a piece, as long as I get my shit back

from her and can start anew with all the cash Axel gave me?

I start pretending to examine slot machines while keeping Axel and Taylor in my

periphery.

I nearly blow my cover when they start heading off, holding on to each other in a

way that makes it clear they’re going for a hotel room or whatever’s most

convenient to get it on.

My heart squeezes painfully and tears spring to my eyes.

It’s not real, I remind myself. You guys planned this.

But tell that to the pain in my chest, my scrunching face, my watering eyes.

What the hell am I doing?

I feel stupid, and I can’t decide if it’s because I know Axel’s faking and yet my

heart has decided it’s real and is breaking, or if it’s because I willingly walked into

Axel’s revenge plan: he gets his watch back after making me fall in love with him

enough so that when he disappears into a hotel room with my former best friend,

my heart feels like it’s going to crack into a million pieces.

Logic says this: Axel is a bad boy. He is filthy rich, he has no responsibilities, and

most of all, I stole from him. I made him look like a fool in front of his friends, and

I’m responsible for the loss of the one thing that meant something to him from his

dad.

He has no reason to care about me and every reason to screw me over at the first

opportunity.

Why wouldn’t he kill two birds with one stone? Three actually? Get his watch

back, get revenge on me, get revenge on Taylor—fucking us both in more ways than

one.

That’s what I’d do.

That’s definitely what Taylor would do if some of the stories she told me are

anything to go by.

That’s what anyone would do, right?

I can’t see properly anymore—the tears are hard to stop and my eyes keep filling

as fast as they fall.

This is so dumb.

I’m so dumb!

Why do I keep doing this to myself?

My own mom didn’t want me. And she had me for twelve years.

Why would I think for a second some rich playboy would want me after knowing

me for a few days? All those lessons I learned from Taylor… I should have just taken

off again when I had the chance.

Axel handed me a stack of hundred dollar bills—even after I already lost the

stack I stole from him Taylor—and I’m still here, crying over him while he fucks my

best friend. Ex-best friend, that is.

Well, see? There’s the silver lining—he’s her problem now.

While they’re getting it on, I’ll be busy putting necessary distance between us.

The remainder of the cash he gave me burns my pocket.

Quit while you’re ahead, right?

They won’t find me to arrest me, and I’ve got enough on me to keep me set for a

little while.

Everything will be on Taylor—my old disguises, all the fake IDs, and maybe even

some of Axel’s stuff—so Taylor will get in trouble for everything; she’ll look guilty

as hell.

And even if Axel is just getting his revenge, I get the feeling he won’t sell me out

and will let me disappear into the night, satisfied with what he got in the end.

Two birds, one stone.

I imagine him fucking her right now, Taylor moaning in pleasure as she takes

the last thing that means anything to me.

In tears, I rush out of the casino and into the cold night air, hoping it shocks me

back into calm sense, but it doesn’t.

I don’t even know where I’m going; I’m not thinking at all—just feeling and

walking, trying not to let my emotions overwhelm me and failing; I need to think

straight, damn it!

I suddenly realize I’m outside of the Bellagio, just in time for a water show to

start and when it does, it breaks the last block in me.

Andrea Bocelli and Sara Brightman sing their hearts out, and this time, the

fountains aren’t joyously celebrating with me; this time, they are crying for me.

At least someone is.

I can’t walk any further, but not because of any physical exhaustion; it’s the

emotional toll of the past few days, especially the past few minutes watching Axel

take off with Taylor.

I settle in near the fountain and let myself cry, letting it all out while I take

comfort in being near the one familiar thing—my Lorax of Vegas. These gorgeous

frickin’ fountains. This beautiful, sorrowful song.

I know it’ll actually help to cry this time since the last time, I felt better and

sharper afterward, so I don’t try to stop the tears; I just let it all flow.

This time, once all the pain has been evacuated through my tear drops, I’ll be

refreshed and ready to plan. Logical. Calculating. Prepared to figure out the next

step.

It just sucks that right now I feel so utterly alone.

I’ll head back to L.A. tomorrow for sure—it’s not like Taylor knew where I lived

and can lead others there. We always met up outside of whatever residence we had

going on at the time.

At least I had the sense to fucking do that.

C H A P T E R 1 7

A X E L

ate’s waiting in the hotel room when I open the door.

His shirt is open a bit, giving a peek of his muscled torso—enough to give off the

wrong impression.

"So it’s that kind of party, is it?" Taylor says delightedly, her eyes assessing Nate

appreciatively, but something tells me she doesn’t believe it; she knows

something’s wrong.

I happened to catch a flash of something go over her eyes before she produced

her false smile, and not just because of the surprise of seeing a stranger in the room

you plan to spend some time in with your mark.

I bet right now, she’s calculating how to slip out of this setup.

Pete comes out of one of the bathrooms half naked, and her eyes light up

genuinely.

Figures.

I almost roll my eyes.

But her look changes once the guys start blocks doors and I lock the exit behind

us.

"What the hell is this?" she finally asks.

"Are you saying you’re not interested?" I ask. "Three young studs, two of them

half-naked and we all want one thing."

She’s trying to look calm and in control but her heaving chest gives her away.

"My goddamned watch," I say, cutting to the chase. “Where is it?”

"I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about," she says quickly.

"Oh no? You see, our mutual friend, April, told me differently."

Disgust transforms her face a bit, her top lip rising slightly.

"Don’t trust that bitch ..."

“Watch your mouth, ‘Taylor’,” I say with air quotes. "Listen, you can make this

easy or hard. It’s totally up to you. Tell me where to find my watch, we let you go.

Otherwise, we hold you here until you do."

"You can’t do that to me!"

Both guys laugh in such a creepy way, it convinces her to drop the tough chick

act because it’s very clear that we can.

Especially since Scott has joined us with ropes casually draped around one of his

shoulders.

We have no plans to use the bloody thing, but image is everything.

I didn’t think we’d have to pull out all the stops, hoping she’d cave sooner than

later, but four huge guys surrounding her seems to be the tipping point.

I believe her mouth even drops open a bit in shock as she notices Scott.

As soon as she gets a load of him, she vomits the name of some pawn shop,

breathing rapidly while looking away, as if she’s trying to hide her face, but why?

“Now will you let me go?” she asks pitifully, her eyes pleading with me in a way

that makes me almost believe she’s panicking for real.

What the heck?

I mean it’s a scary situation as a girl, and she doesn’t know we wouldn’t hurt her

in any way, but she’s not just any girl in any case. I know she’s tough in a number

of ways.

I get the sense something else is bothering her, and I’m kind of curious what’s

got her spooked.

But I don’t bother to ask; we need to just finish this.

We’ve already alerted the authorities and I have some local friends waiting

outside to take her in, so I easily answer, "Yes. We’ll let you go. But first, we must

confirm the location of the watch. You don’t mind hanging out with us while we do

that, do you?" I say as I pull out my cell and start dialing.

We make her sit at the desk to wait while my guy checks out the information.

Nate and Pete stay near her in case she tries anything stupid while I hang out

near the door, pacing as I wait for an update, my eyes glancing between her, Nate &

Pete, and Scott.

Scott has long dropped the ropes, and he’s staring at Taylor with the strangest

expression, like he’s trying to figure something out.

She keeps avoiding his eyes, twisted away from him.

Once my guy gets back to me with word that the watch has been located, the

guys move away from her, and we all give her enough space to give her a clear path

to the door.

Instead of sprinting for it, she fronts like she’s not afraid and walks with

measured steps to the door before disappearing behind it.

As far as I could tell, she held her breath the whole time, and I can practically see

her sprinting down the hall in my mind’s eye.

Once she’s gone, the guys and I look at each other and burst into laughter—all

except Scott who is staring at the door as if he can still see her.

“Rachel?” I think I hear him whisper, the look in his eyes far away.

Then he turns to me.

“I think I know that girl,” he says, and his expression and the tone of his voice

kills all laughter. “Where are they waiting for her?” he demands.

I fill him in and he takes off, leaving a vacuum.

Nate, Pete and I just look at each other with confused expressions, wondering

what the hell that’s about, but we’ll, no doubt, find out soon enough.

I look forward to recounting this whole thing to April.

sick sense of déjà vu hits me as I open the suite door and realize April is

nowhere in sight.

It’s a large suite, and she could be anywhere, but my gut tells me it’s empty, just

like the first time around. She’s not out on the balcony, she’s not taking in a hot

tub.

I call to her anyway, knowing she’s not there but still hoping she is, like before.

Worry starts to seize me, except this time, more is at stake than a goddamned

watch.

Maybe she’s still shopping, I tell myself, knowing there’s no way that’s the case.

A girl like April is efficient. Practical. Quick.

She gets in and gets out.

A girl like April probably won’t give herself time to browse forever, knowing how

precious time is.

A girl like April is, no doubt, gone.

I try not to panic, thinking about everything she told me—anything that could

clue me in to where she would go.

I know her mom’s here, but she’s probably not heading back there.

I know she used to live in L.A., but with no car, she’s probably not headed back

there right now.

I don’t think she’ll waste money on a flight; she’ll probably take a bus—most

likely first thing in the morning.

She’ll hide out somewhere tonight.

Since I don’t know when she took off, I don’t know how far she could have gone

—especially if she took a taxi.

I decide to hop in one myself and drive down the strip; I can’t just stand around

and do nothing while I try to figure out what to do.

The drive will probably help me think.

I know it’s fairly useless to search for her at this point—like Taylor, she could

look like anyone by now—black hair instead of blond, brown eyes instead of those

gorgeous gray depths I love gazing into.

Focus, Axel—you could miss her.

The fountains in front of the Bellagio catch my eye and my eyes rove the area,

stopping on a small, curled up form.

I can’t see the face, but that petite form, head over her knees—I just know it’s

her.

"Stop the cab," I say, shoving cash at the driver and hopping out.

It’s a lot of money, so I’m not sure why he’s cussing me; I’m not even sure the

cab had stopped before I hopped out, actually.

I make a beeline for the girl with the dark hair in the weird dress, hoping like

hell she isn’t a mirage in the desert.

"April?"

She looks up, and her tear-stained face all but kills me.

She tries to run, but she’s no match for my long stride, my determination.

I grab her and pull her into my arms, holding her tight.

I caress her head soothingly as she sobs a little, the palm of my hand hating her

wig.

"What the hell are you doing out here? You’re supposed to be waiting for me!"

"I thought ..." She pulls away to look up at me, and it looks like she can’t find

the right words. "You and Taylor… you looked so cozy. And you have every reason

to hate me, so I was pretty sure… "

"We went over that whole thing and planned it, remember? It was all an act!"

She is shaking her head and trying to pull away more but I won’t let her.

"You can’t be that good; most people aren’t. You were really going to fuck her.

And I wouldn’t blame you.”

"You’re saying I’m a natural?” I say with a slight smile, trying to ignore how

hard my heart is pounding. I almost lost her! “I appreciate the compliment, babe,

but I definitely wasn’t going to fuck her. She disgusts me.”

She sobs against my stomach some more.

She’s still so unsure and hurt, and there’s gotta be a way to fix this.

Somehow, I have to let her know she’s safe with me. I have to let her know she

can trust me.

I tilt her chin up.

"Obviously, it wasn’t all an act," I say meaningfully, then I bring my lips to hers.

She kisses me half-heartedly, like she wants to do it desperately while also

wanting to pull away just as desperately.

I release her lips reluctantly.

"April, listen to me—I don’t know how you did it, but you made me fall in love

with you. I can’t see my life without you in it now, and I’m hoping like hell you

don’t try to run away ever again. I love you, April, and I want you to stay with me for

good. Let me take care of you. Let me make sure you don’t have to worry about

food, shelter, or any of those stupid basics again. Let me make sure you’re never

alone."

She looks hopeful, and her watery eyes are staring into mine.

I can see she really wants to believe me, but she’s not quite there.

"You really want to stay with me?" she says, sounding like a little girl and

twisting my heart even more.

This girl will be the end of me, I know it.

She shorts my brain, and maybe this is why I can’t help but say, "Yes. And if you

need some kind of proof, let’s make this thing official.”

Her eyes widen a bit.

"Wait, what are you saying?” she asks, her voice wary.

"I’m probably insane, considering how we got here. I mean, you conned me.

Expertly.”

"Thank you,” she says, and I can’t decide if she’s genuinely or jokingly accepting

the compliment.

“I mean, I can have a different girl every night if I want… "

“Um, congrats?"

“… but yet I don’t want any other woman, April. I want you. Forever.”

My heartbeats are rapid-fire, and I’m suddenly nervous as I hold her hands.

“We’re in Vegas,” I continue. “Let me prove to you what I’m saying is real. Let’s

do that other thing people come to Vegas to do.”

I drop to my knee and her eyes are like saucers now.

I kind of wish a strong gust of wind would blow her wig off—I want to look up at

the real her, all of her. But her hair is the least of my concerns at this moment.

"April, will you marry me? I didn’t exactly plan this, so I’m short a ring right

now, but I promise you I’m good for it... "

She laughs freely, her head thrown back, then she bends to kiss me.

When she pulls away, she nods happily, pulling off that damned wig with the

other hand.

“Yes, I will marry you, Axel Addison,” she says, and my heart liquefies.

I only realize we had picked up a small crowd when it suddenly erupts into

applause, but I’m only barely aware of them.

April fills my vision.

April fills my everything.

I rise to my feet, picking her up on the way so that she’s swept off her feet while

being bear-hugged by stupidly happy me.

Then it suddenly hits me.

"Wait, how did you know my full name?"

She looks sheepish as she produces my driver’s license.

Of course.

I’m not sure when she swiped it, since I didn’t leave my wallet in the room.

"I just wanted something to remember you by," she says, red-faced.

All I can do is laugh.

"Christ, you’re incorrigible. Guess you’ll have to settle for the real mug now," I

say, pointing to my face. Then I turn to the crowd. “Anyone know where the

nearest chapel is?” I ask.

A few shout out some answers.

It’s a tangled mess, so I do a quick search on my phone, then pick her up in my

arms to walk her all the way there.

f this doesn’t help you stay put... " I say as we complete the paperwork.

I’m ecstatic my friends—old and new—showed up, plus some randoms we don’t

know.

Well, Nate and Pete did—apparently, Scott’s still busy with Taylor aka Rachel,

but that’s okay—April and I might throw a bigger party later with suits and dresses

and everything. This was kind of short notice.

I look over at my bride, gorgeous in her hoodie and jeans, her blond hair down,

her eyes sparkling.

But most of all, still here—right where I can reach out and touch her, kiss her.

I’m ecstatic April has decided to trust me with her protection, her love.

I’m overjoyed that she agreed to be with me. To stay with me. To belong to me.

April Addison.

Once we’re done, I sweep her up to carry her out, Nate and Pete following.

I try not to laugh when I hear a female voice behind me say, “Excuse me, but are

you Lance Gross?”

What I don’t do is turn around to see Pete’s reaction; my eyes are stuck on April.

With April at my side, I am, without a doubt, the luckiest guy in the world.

They say the house always wins, but I definitely won this round.

E P I L O G U E

A P R I L

ometimes, I still think it’s all a dream.

That the Vegas trip I took for my birthday resulted in me partaking in some

superior mushrooms.

As a result, I produced this illusion where I basically clobbered a billionaire over

the head and made him love me.

Of course, this wackadoodle hallucinated vision didn’t start out that way—in the

ugly first part of the lucid dream, my best friend betrayed me, and my mom rejected

me once again, but I eventually realized I’d be just fine without both of them and

got the best revenge of all—I carried on, picking up someone who decided they

wanted to look after me, whether I needed it or not.

And that’s where things really got weird.

Between dancing fountains and heartbreaking operatic tunes, green-eyed

women coming onto me and men handing me stacks of cash for no real reason, I’m

Alice down that rabbit hole, meeting talking animals and homicidal queens, and

soon, a pack of cards will attack me and I’ll eventually wake up.

I had a nap once that felt like hours, but when I awoke, realized it had only been

a few minutes.

That’s what this feels like—like I’m living a huge chunk of a lifetime in one of

the best power naps ever.

I don’t mind not waking up.

Axel comes behind me and kisses my neck, his hand affectionately on my

protruding stomach.

"You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me," he says, and my heart melts

yet again.

Every now and then he slides in something like that, catching me off guard, and

though his words essentially say the same thing, each time, it’s like he’s saying

wedding vows again.

He still sounds so genuine, so awed when he says sweet nothings to me.

He tells me he loves me every day, like he knows I need to hear it.

Axel and I pretty much immediately started our honeymoon after our quickie

marriage—after we sorted out my true documents—and it kind of still feels like

we’re on a honeymoon, even though we’re now all settled in a huge mansion in La

Jolla.

I felt kind of bad about not returning to L.A. and seeing Lorax again, and when I

jokingly told Axel about missing the rat, the next day, I suddenly had two pet

guineas.

It’s not the same, of course, but I suppose guinea pigs are better pet materials

than alley rats.

I called them Thing 1 and Thing 2.

I had to give them away once I found out I was pregnant, though—too risky to

have around at such a time.

Axel happily replaced them with goldfish at my request.

It’s funny watching Axel react to my needs—and I have a whole lot of them now

that I’m pregnant.

Anything I even hint at wanting, he takes care of it, like he’s still determined to

prove himself to me, even though I definitely believe him now.

I still didn’t quite believe him when we got married, but since then, he has

proven he means what he said, over and over.

We haven’t bothered throwing a bigger celebration yet—I have no one to invite,

and his best friend, Nate, was our witness the first time around, so the most

important people to him already attended our wedding.

Plus I don’t care for all that attention; I’m way too used to laying low.

I did agree to consider throwing a bash for our first year anniversary in a few

months, but it’s just so Axel can see me in some white froufrou dress.

Bleh.

I don’t care for it, but Axel wants it, so I’ll do it for him after this munchkin of

ours pops out and I get my figure back.

We’re having a boy, thankfully—I hear they’re less fuss, and I’m hoping he

looks like his dad.

As for Taylor—apparently, Axel’s friend Scott is ‘taking care of it,’ whatever that

means.

I don’t really care how or if she gets punished or not—I’m just glad she’s out of

my life for good.

Axel told me what happened when they captured her and that Scott thought he

recognized her and called her Rachel.

I was mildly surprised by the name, even though I suspected she never gave me

her real one, but was anything about her real? Was that scar a fake too?

Whatever—she’s gone now, and Axel and I got our shit back, and Axel promised

me I never have to worry about her or anything ever again.

I realize I’m pretty much the luckiest girl in the world.

For both Axel and me, despite our original intentions when it came to scoring,

that Vegas trip turned out to be a beautiful resounding success. A gift that keeps on

giving.

My hand joins his on my stomach, and I can’t help but smile as I feel a small

kick.

f you enjoyed this story, please let others know on Amazon! :)

Spinoffs featuring other characters in this story will be available at some point.

to get a heads up and chances to read the rest of my

books for free!

- Leanne

A B O U T T H E A U T H O R

Leanne Brice loves writing about kick-ass women, even if they’re a bit naughty.

She’s a fan of comic books and heroic real-life women.

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A L S O B Y L E A N N E B R I C E

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The Baronet and the Thief

Step Trouble

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Document Outline

Copyright
Mailing List
Author’s Note
Synopsis
Epigraph
Prologue
Part 1
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
Part 2
Part 3
About the Author
Also by Leanne Brice

The Billionaire and the Con Artist – Leanne Brice

Document Outline