Page 85 of Hell to Pay

I frowned at him. “Low blow.”

He knew how desperate I was to get into the party, knew I was hoping to find Rain Adakai, to see if we could figure out how to free the other girls.

“He’s right,” Rafe said. “Now stop fucking around and let’s go spend some fucking money.”

He opened the door and I almost felt like I had no choice but to walk through it.

I was immediately enveloped in a cloud of expensive perfume. Racks of clothing were spread out, leaving plenty of room to walk around, not at all like the thrift stores I frequented, where everything was jumbled together, or even the stores in the mall where I went when I needed something nice.

I had a feeling my version of “nice” would never be the same.

We were approached by a stylish older woman in a tailored shift dress in the classic Gucci logo fabric. “Good afternoon,” she said in accented English. “What can I show you today?”

We obviously looked American enough that she didn’t bother with French, and she spoke to me, not the Bastards, which was nice given the fact that I was in jeans, a T-shirt, and sneakers that had cost me five dollars at a discount store.

“Everything,” Rafe said.

“A dress,” I said quickly. “Just… a dress.”

Rafe didn’t even acknowledge my statement. He just stared at the sales associate. “Everything.”

* * *

Gucci had been just the beginning. After that we’d gone to Chanel, Fendi, Ferragamo, and Balmain. I’d found the dress I needed, a slinky floor-length emerald gown that looked like liquid silk, but Rafe refused to stop there.

He’d ordered me to try on pants and blouses, T-shirts that cost as much as the rent on my tiny apartment, jackets and shoes and skirts. I’d protested every step of the way, but I could tell the Bastards were enjoying themselves, sipping champagne on designer sofas and chairs while I cycled endlessly through fitting rooms and stacks and stacks of clothes brought to me by elegant, unhurried sales associates.

And they didn’t stop at clothes. Just when I thought we were done, they instructed the driver they’d hired for the day to drive to La Perla. I’d never heard of it, and no wonder, because when we got there I saw that it was full of the nicest, most expensive underclothes I’d ever seen.

My underwear usually came in a six-pack — or the clearance bin at Victoria’s Secret if I was feeling like a baller — and I’d never in my life seen $200 panties.

Still, I had to admit that the bras and underwear were well made, sitting soft and flat against my skin, the lace and satin smooth without an ounce of scratch.

The Bastards didn’t make me model for them, which I appreciated, because I wasn’t exactly the prance around in my underwear type, but they did ask which stuff fit, which stuff I liked, then had the sales associate wrap it all up and send it back to the hotel.

I should have been happy when we got back to the car. I had a whole new wardrobe, one I could never have afforded, but it felt weird to have the Bastards buying stuff for me, expensive stuff.

“You okay?” Nolan asked on the way back to the hotel.

I was in the back seat with him and Jude while Rafe rode shotgun with the driver.

“I wish you hadn’t spent all that money on me,” I said.

Jude took my hand. “We like buying things for you. Let us have our fun.”

I chewed my lower lip. “It’s just… too much.”

Nolan put his arm around me and pulled me close, then kissed the top of my head. “You deserve everything, sweetheart. Someday I hope you’ll believe that.”

Nestled into the crook of his arm, I almost did.

55

NOLAN

The daybefore the MdM event (I was determined to figure out what that stood for someday), we gathered around my laptop for a call with Pythe. His username on the videoconferencing app was just a series of numbers and letters and his camera was off, his voice disguised with a modulator.

Hackers were notoriously paranoid, but in this case, I didn’t blame him.

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