Page 28 of Iris' Lying Eyes

He grunts. “Don’t worry. I know your limits.”

“Which are?”

“You wouldn’t know how to be a lady if it hit you in the face.”

The comment stings, and I look away, hiding my grimace. When I’ve collected myself, I say, “Why bring me at all?”

“Because if I don’t show you around, we can’t bait the trap.”

“That’s insulting as it is. I’m not bait,” I say sourly.

“No? Isn’t that what you do?”

“What are you saying?” I demand, curling my lip.

His brows darken and he looks away before meeting my gaze. “Don’t be stupid. We both know you use your body to get what you want.”

Flinching, I lean into him and hiss, “I’m not a whore.”

“Really? Then what would you define it as? John’s fucking girlfriend?”

Sagging against the seat, I shake my head but don’t respond. His mind is made up anyway. I’d be wasting my breath.

“Exactly,” he says, and I glare at him.

“You’re a fucking hypocrite,” I say.

“Oh, how’s that?”

Waving my arm around, I say in a brittle voice, “Who’s whoring themselves out now? What’s it for, Bastion? Power? Money? You’re no better than that fucker Castinetti.”

He barks out a laugh, and I frown. Did I say something funny?

“You’re so fucking full of shit. This is my fucking empire. You’re just the whore currently in it.”

My hand is flying toward his face before I can stop it, but he grabs me up before I make contact and pulls me into his chest.

“The truth hurt, baby?” He says, his eyes like granite.

Biting my lip, I lean into him and rub my chest against his. “No,” I say, “You know why?” My words are breathy, and a thrill rushes through me when his nostrils flare.

He doesn’t answer, and I press my lips to his. “Because this pussy has more power than you have in your entire pathetic empire.”

Jerking away, I smooth my skirt and hide my trembling hands beneath the layers. Being around Bastion is like riding in an airplane—exhilarating up until a point.

But what goes up inevitably must come down.

A grunt is my answer, and smiling humorlessly, I brood the entire way across town before following him into another swanky home with a sullen frown.

A tall, handsome older gentleman greets us at the door. He glances at me before greeting Bastion. “Bruno.”

Bastion nods. The man turns to me and waves toward a room across the hall. “You can wait in there.”

Summarily dismissed, I watch them go with a snarl before sucking in a breath and plastering a smile on my face. When I enter the fancy-ass living space, I’m immediately barraged with curiosity.

The women range in age from early twenties to fifties, and every single one of them is dressed to impress. I’m thankful for the outfit from that old sourpuss when a woman turns to me and lifts a brow.

“Hello, dear. Who might you be?” She’s easily my mom’s age, with fine lines around crystal blue eyes and gently graying blonde hair pulled back in a fancy updo.

---