Page 197 of Tempting Little Thief

“What fucking car?”

I force another smirk. “I could show you.”

Royce jerks forward and I lift my chin, daring him to come closer. I won’t hesitate to take out his left lung, but I don’t have to as Bastian flips into protective mode in an instant, blocking him with a sharp glare before focusing on me.

My chest warms, but I push it away, forcing a clipped laugh and shitty attitude. “Ah, down, boy.” I stare into his eyes, my facade beginning to crumble as he holds my gaze prisoner. I need an answer, confirmation of … something. He knows, senses it, and I swear, for the smallest of seconds, his features grow soft.

“First, I need your word that you’ll—”

Suddenly, his lips are hard on mine, angry and punishing and longing and way too fucking quick. I want to fall into him, but he pulls back before I can.

He’s still there, so close as he whispers in a tender, promising tone, “Quiet, Rich Girl.”

My eyes close briefly, soaking in the sound, and he gently takes my phone from my grasp.

A mocking laugh comes from the asshole beside us, and my attention flicks his way.

“Damn, Bishop, girl’s got a Brayshaw-size hard-on for you,” he says.

Frustrated, I slip my mask back in place, ignoring whatever comes from Bastian’s mouth until I hear him say, “Password?”

Ohhh.

Shit.

He sees it, my panic. I quickly look away when his eyes narrow, but he closes the gap between us.

“We don’t have time for this junior high bullshit,” Royce pops off again.

My lips curl, but Bastian wants all my attention, as eager to learn what I don’t want to share as he is to get into my phone.

“I haven’t changed it in a while …” Kind of a lie. I did change it. When I was pissed at him.

It was petty and childish, and it felt good in my petty, childish moment. Now? Not so much.

“Password,” he snaps.

Fuck it. He made me think he didn’t want me. Maybe he deserves to be a little pissy.

I straighten my spine and prepare for the rage he’ll feel but won’t show. “D-O…”

“M?” he growls.

I clear my suddenly dry throat, nodding. “And add anS.”

“Who’s Dom?” We ignore the Brayshaw.

Bass glares and I can’t take it.

It’s a low blow, considering. I know this, and so I slowly step away, leaving my phone with him, but no more than a minute passes, and then he’s tugging my door open.

He squats beside me, the look in his eyes haunted as he drops my phone into my lap. “The dude I told you I punished? He has her.”

Guilt falls heavy on my shoulders. “I tried to call you and tell you she was leaving.”

He nods, shuffles closer and grips my thighs, his expression growing serious as he speaks for only me to hear. “This little role you’re playin’ here? Stop.”

“I’m—” I almost lie but cut myself off.

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