Page 5 of Steal Me

But sometimes...life happens, and that's when it gets tough.

The American entrepreneur catches my eye across the room, offering a genuine smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes.

"First time here?" he asks when I walk past his table. "If you'd like a tour of the place, I'd be honored to show you around. No strings attached—promise."

There are nights like this when there aren't enough evil men in the club I've chosen, and I'm forced to choose. This man is not evil. But he's far from broke either. Will it really be so bad to steal from him?

Oui, my conscience says sadly.

But since it's my mother's life on the line...

Désolé, Monsieur Gentil. I'm sorry, Mr. Nice Guy.

Needs must.

And yet...

Huh?

A waiter suddenly approaches him, saying something under his breath. And then just like that, Mr. Nice Guy leaves, without even a backward glance.

Not good.

Death is on to me, and a chill runs down my spine as I look around. Red flags are everywhere. The bartender keeps glancing up toward the VIP section. Security guards have shifted positions, creating a subtle perimeter around me. The industrialist I've been chatting with is now being engaged by a beautiful hostess who appeared from nowhere. Even the music seems to have changed tempo, becoming more hypnotic, more disorienting.

And the reddest and fairest flag of them all?

Him.

Dark hair. Broad shoulders encased in a tailored suit that probably costs more than my entire apartment. And a presence so ominous that he has me gulping even from where I'm standing.

The king of the catacombs, in the flesh.

And he's watching me.

****

THE NIGHT WEARS ON.

I feel like a puppet being made to perform, and I hate it.

But that's the thing about being poor.

Choice is a privilege of the rich. Other times, it's worse, and you realize that choice is nothing but an illusion. This world we live in is only for the rich and powerful.

And poor people like you and me simply exist for their consumption.

Like now.

I can feel his gaze following me wherever I go. But I'm past the point of caring. I have one last mark to hit, and then I'll go. If he wanted me killed, I'd have been dead an eternity ago. But since I'm still alive?

He's toying with me, obviously.

And that's fine.

Play to your heart's content, monsieur.

Ever since coming here, something inside of me seems to have changed. I'm less and less afraid of my mortality while death has become more and more...seductive.

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