Page 11 of His Property

It’s the mafia. They don’t do a lot of talking.

They sure as shit aren’t listening to excuses at one thirty in the morning.

I don’t know what to say to him, so no words leave my mouth. I don’t have the money. He gives me about a minute before he accepts my no answer.

“Come on, baby,” he says, his voice so deceptively gentle. “Let’s go.”

All my instincts work together to plant my heels into the carpet. They all, in unison, scream not to go with him. That if I walk out the front door, hell, out of this room, TJ and I will both be as good as dead.

There has to be another way.

Think.

Think.

Think.

Victor tugs me hard, dragging me toward the door, when an idea pops into my head.

“Wait,” I say, my command more like a plea.

He keeps dragging me, and panic threatens to take over. “I want to make a deal with you instead!”

He stops and turns to look at me. His head tilts as he lets go of my arm. “What?”

“I don’t want to make a deal with your boss,” I say, cradling the arm he held like it’s wounded. “I want to make a deal withyou.”

The flash of interest in his eyes hints to me that his ego is successfully being fed. I don’t know this man or anything about him, but somehow, it’s like I do. I can see right through him.

“That isn’t the way this works,” he says, sure of himself, yet still not proceeding to drag me out of here.

He’s definitely interested.

“It can be.”

His nose wrinkles, and I wonder what I’ve said wrong.

“Even if there was anything I could do for you, I’m the last person you would ever want to make a deal with. I promise you that. If you’re thinking my boss is more vicious than me, you’re mistaken.”

Does hewantme to see him that way? Would he be jealous if I didn’t?

“I don’t care.” I back up a step, and he doesn’t follow. “I only want to talk to you.”

He watches me creeping back, and he looks more intrigued than anything else. “Are you hearing me? I have no power over what happens to you. I’m a soldier.”

“Right.” I nod and swallow. “You’re a soldier who probably has five thousand dollars.”

He smiles wide and chuckles. “You’re out of your fucking mind.”

“I have something you want,” I assure him, hoping like hell it’s the truth. I think back to him at Pandora’s Box, and I think about the woman who was sobbing. The tattooed woman was angry because he didn’t respect a sub’s limits.

He has no club now.

Or sub.

“Oh, baby, I don’t doubt that,” he says, licking his bottom lip and chuckling. “But I have strict orders. And my time is up.”

“You could give them your own money and they wouldn’t know the difference. Then I’ll owe you, and I’ll pay you back three times that amount.”

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