Page 108 of Tempting Little Thief

“I would do as I must, no matter what.” My eyes slice up and hold his. “Like a good daughter would.”

Silence stretches, understanding passing between us, though on what, it isn’t completely clear. We’re speaking in riddles,ones that cannot be solved as the question hasn’t been established. What’s worrisome is Sai and his knack for anticipating trouble. Like a Doppler before a storm, he can sense when something is coming. For weeks now, he’s been acting odd, leaving his post and slipping away. He’s never done that and I’m not sure what to make of it. All I know is something has changed.

“Sai, tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I can’t do that, but I can tell you this.” He spins to face me, so he can look at me head-on, “You are doing exactly what I hoped you would, and without the guidance I had planned to offer.”

The car door opens, and he faces forward, so I wash away my frown, accept my father’s hand and climb out.

Chapter 19

Rocklin

I can count on one hand how many times I’ve seen my father intoxicated, drunk to the point of flushed cheeks and incessant laughter, and I wouldn’t be holding a single finger in the air.

Not when he faced new threats or after the loss of soldiers.

Not even when my mother died eleven years ago today.

He would never allow himself the reprieve, never weaken for the enemy and paint himself as prey, so sitting across from him and Mr. Henshaw with Oliver at my side, I have no idea what to think.

My father is relaxed, one leg up, ankle balanced against his knee, with his arm thrown across the back of the bucket seats. The glass in his hand, his fourth of the evening, half-empty.

He’s drunk outside, in the open, and with only one of his guards on board, the rest left behind on the dock with Mr. Henshaw’s men, who is also accompanied by a single soldier. I’ve counted no less than six other faces, all staff brought on deck to serve us the over-the-top meal of caviar and roasted lamb, and all I can think about is the conversation or lack thereof, I had with Sai in the car.

I’m dumbfounded. This makes no sense.

My dad is relaxed, and yes, Mr. Henshaw is someone who has been around since I was young, though I wouldn’t call him a friend. My father has none of those, not even Sai as that drifted away when Sai’s allegiance shifted to me—something my father was deeply grateful for. At the end of the day, Mr.Henshaw is a colleague at best, someone my father works with sometimes when in need of his particular forte.

Whether any of that is true or false doesn’t matter, though, as either way, this is so unlike the man I know.

My sister was seen today in the open by eyes who may or may not share the news, assuming it’s harmless, and we would have no idea who to blame should the word get out—whenthe word gets out. Not that anyone knows why she left in the first place, but word travels fast, especially when it comes to the man other men must seek approval from in order to cross our borders.

I’ve replayed a million ideas in my head and have come up empty every time, doing it all over again with each glass filled, so when Oliver holds a pipe before my lips, I part them, pulling in a long hit of hash-dusted weed.

I wait for the man across from me to scold me, to make it clear he’s unhappy with my decision to alter my mind, but he glances over with nothing more than a smile, returning to his conversation a second later.

It makes no sense.

“I think our fathers are drunk,” Oliver whispers.

Resisting the urge to shake my head, I take a second drag when offered before pushing his hand away. “I think you’re right.”

“I bet if we unloaded the Jet Skiis and hit the water right now, they wouldn’t say a word or even notice.” He looks my way, grinning. “Honestly, they may encourage it.”

“Doubtful.” I chuckle, making a point to look down at my dress. “And does it look like I am Jet Ski ready?”

“I’d be happy with whatever you have on underneath, but you already know that much.”

He shifts where he sits, turning slightly, his thigh near my thigh, his arm resting on the back of the curved booth behind my shoulders, and then his fingers dare to touch my skin.

I narrow my eyes at the brazen move. “Watch yourself, Oliver. I would hate to break your trigger finger.”

“You wouldn’t because Daddy would be really upset if you did.”

I face forward, lifting my glass to my lips, knowing where his focus will fall, while my left dips into the slit of my skirt. I raise and slide my blade across his finger.

He’s bleeding without having seen it coming.

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