Page 62 of Tempting Little Thief

“We did say we’d give them a little taste of the troublethey bring.” Bronx pours two glasses of wine, keeping the bottle for herself.

“We did.” I grab mine, leaning back once more and kicking my feet up on the stone railing.

“Now.” She drinks straight from the bottle. “Details. All of them.”

“You’re not going to like it,” I tell them both.

“Oh, this sounds like it’s going to be good!”

“Was it the heir?” She scrunches her face. “I mean … he’s drop-dead,do me now and do me goodgorgeous,but imagine all the family dinners you’ll have to go to with that mama’s boy.”

Running my finger over the rim of the glass, I smile down at it. “No, it’s not him. And that won’t be a problem becauseBastianhas no parents.”

“Good. We hate parents.”

A laugh leaves me and I take a sip, shrugging lightly. “I don’t know. I like my dad.”

“You love your dad. You don’t like him.”

True …

“So … Bastian, hmm?” Delta smiles. “Is he Italian mob? Greek cartel?” She gasps. “Oh my god, you said parentless, so is he already in his position?!”

“No, nothing like that.”

Confusion takes place along both their expressions as they wait for more.

“He’s …” He’s what? How do I explain him?

An “associate,” as we call the grunt guys at the very bottom of the food chain, but he’s not even on it, let alone at the bottom.

A petty thief, perhaps, but really, I’m the one who stole from him.

An armed robber, but again … I was the one with a weapon the night we met. I’m sure he had one, but he didn’t show his cards.

He never shows his cards.

He’s like a vault, giving nothing away, yet radiating dominance someone like him shouldn’t so easily possess.

Or maybe he should. What do I know?

He’s just a hot guy with a wicked mouth that knows how to use his dick. An orphan who was taught to barbeque and has a sister somewhere, who apparently has a halo hovering over her head, if his words are true.

He’s a guy I hardly know but can’t stop thinking about.

I look to my girls, my best friends. “He’s an outsider.”

“An enemy crew?” Bronx’s brows dip in the center.

“Unaffiliated.”

“Rocklin …” Delta speaks with caution, not wanting to question me but needing to nonetheless. “Are you sure?”

I understand their concern. It’s the same shit I worked through myself when I first met him.

Who he is and where he comes from. How he gets in and who sends him.

I’ve asked myself all the right questions and looked for all the answers, but at the end of the day, I’m trusting my gut.

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