Page 2 of Borrowed Bride

I don’t open his wallet until I’m two blocks away. Inside are a couple of credit cards, his ID, and a generous wad of cash. His useless club cards end up in the trash alongside my discarded cup, and I pocket the wallet and credit cards. Counting the cash, my heart sinks. It’s a thick lump, but it’s all small bills totaling seventy-five dollars.

He won’t notice his wallet is missing because he has no plans to pay for that pretzel. And when he eventually does notice, he won’t remember enough about me to call the cops. But, at most, I have two days with his cards.

I need to find a hotel that will let me withdraw cash. Given how untraceable it can be, it’s my preferred method of payment, but given his lack of on-hand cash, I doubt it will be enough.

I need another mark.

The sky grows darker, and the people around me are more aggressive in their movements. I wander down the street with my hands in my pockets, dodging men and women seeking shelter from the faint drizzle of rain that appears in the air.

Suddenly, a sharp scream cuts above the noise of the traffic and my heart leaps into my throat. No one else around me reacts. I scan the crowd, searching multiple faces for the source of the scream just in case someone is in need of real help.

I locate the source thirty seconds later, and what I feared was a scream of terror turns out to be a scream of excitement from a child bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. He’s pressed against the window of a toy store, breathing heavily against the glass and pointing furiously at something inside. His parents stand around him with affectionate smiles on their faces, and I watch as they scoop him up, kiss his cheek, and carry him inside.

A bitter flurry of resentment rises inside me.

Life on the streets is rough, but seeing happy families just makes it even rougher. Seeing what I never had brings out my bitter, jealous side. It’s pathetic, being jealous of a child. But I can’t help it. Most of my family are dead or dead to me. There’s no love there. No comfort.

Certainly no loving kisses and toy shopping.

I kick the ground as I walk, trying to shake out the bitterness.

I have to refocus. I need more money. Something decent that will get me a score big enough so I don’t need to worry about food for at least a week.

The streets thin out as the rain turns from a faint drizzle in the air to something slightly more substantial. Those impatient with the weather seek out taxis to carry them home. Maybe I’d be doing the same if I had somewhere to go.

Then I see him. Out of the crowd melts someone who justscreamsarrogant dick. They’re a little more difficult to steal from, but it’s always worth the risk.

This man strides tall through the street, utterly unfazed by the weather and seemingly blind to how those around him scurry out of the way. He must be someone important, or at least he thinks he is. Sometimes, all it takes is the right attitude to trick people.

I know that all too well.

He’s tall, with black hair slicked away from his forehead save a single curl that sweeps down across a lined forehead. Dark brows pull together as he walks and talks, muttering close to the phone in his hand.

Surprisingly, he’s quite handsome. More than handsome, actually. His chiseled features are straight out of a magazine, with an angular nose and a square jaw so sharp it could cut straight through glass. A dusting of dark facial hair shadows his full, pink lips.

And his eyes.

They’re a striking ice blue, seemingly gleaming in this dark gray world. I can’t stop staring at him as he strolls down the opposite street, moving like he’s the only man in existence.

He’s the perfect mark. I move from where I’ve been hugging a wall and take a few steps toward the crossing, but as I do, I spot something else.

This man isn’t alone. At first, I think he’s being followed, given how these other men blend into the crowd and would be missed by anyone unskilled. But I see them as clear as day. Usually, I’m on the lookout for other people sneaking so I don’t move in on someone else’s mark, but this time it brings these men to my attention.

They’re dressed in dark jeans and sweaters, much more casual compared to the handsome man’s pristine suit. I can tell at a glance he’s got an Armani shirt on, and those can go for fifteen hundred dollars alone. It’s not until one of the men quickens their steps and takes the phone from the handsome man that I realize what they are.

He’s not being followed. He’s being protected.

This should warn me away from him, but it doesn’t. I press the button, bringing the river of traffic to a halt, and then I cross the road to his side.

I like a challenge. I can already picture what it will be like to soak in a gold tub on this man’s dime, knowing I swiped his gold right from under his nose and the nose of his guards.

The little voice in my mind that warns me not to be stupid slowly fades away, smothered by the sudden increase in my heart rate. Adrenaline sweeps through me and my fingertips tingle. He favors his left side as he walks. It’s subtle but his left arm doesn’t swing out as wide, which means that’s where he keeps his valuables.

I straighten my posture and fluff my hair, using the dampness from the light rain to my advantage and quickly curling my bangs. I’ll use the old stumble trick here because I’m confident this man will be far too annoyed at my presence to care.

People step aside as he strides closer, and suddenly, there’s no one between him and me.

Then he looks me in the eyes.

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