Page 22 of Tempting Little Thief

Filling a cup of water, I look at him.

Am I going? Yes. I go every night we open the place, but I have other shit to do today before I head over to run the fights I’m paid to handle, but none of that has anything to do with Keefer. He might be in charge in this house, but when it comes to the jobs of this town, he’s told only what he needs to know, and that ain’t much. We all have our roles, and until you’re the one assigning what those are, you fill yours, or you’re gone.

But I didn’t earn myself the spot of the man in charge of the ring by simply doing as I’m fucking told. I do shit my way, always, and no one says a word because what’s asked of me gets done. If, at the end of the day, no rock’s left unturned, no hint that can’t be hunted, then no one gives a fuck how it happens, and all’s good. And me?

I’m damn fucking good.

I know it.

They know it.

And later tonight, the fucker who thought he was slick from last week’s fights will know it too.

I’ll show him why you don’t fuck the hand that holds the honey, one broken bone at a time.

Rocklin

It’s never fun breaking a girl’s spirit.

Well … that’s a lie. Depending on the situation, it can be entertaining as hell, but fun or not, it’s a necessary evil.

Ms. Milano caught a second-year attempting to cheat, and Greysons do not cheat. They’re the best of the best because they work for it. She didn’t, so her privileges at The Enterprise are no more.

“Back to being as equal as any other student she goes,” Delta singsongs, waving as she heads out the door, her class on the other side of the building this morning.

“So much for a Wednesday girl.” Bronx drops onto the mini sofa, slipping a sucker between her lips. “And speaking of downgrades. I need a date for the fundraiser next month.”

“What happened to going with Victor, thedirty politician with a dirtier mouth?” I tease.

“You know that one Cardi-B song? The hook, the lean …” She smiles. “Turned out he had neither.”

Laughter bursts from me, and she winks, then pops up and heads out, closing the door behind her.

I move across the room, toying with my necklace as I stare out the large window that makes up the entirety of the back wall of the room.

This building sits on a large platform of sorts, bringing us two stories off ground level, and the school itself is three, this room located on the highest one. The view, while not extraordinary, is far from pedestrian.

In the distance, large city buildings block the sun from destroying the gardens, both built and managed by theprospects here to learn about giving back to the earth—basically young men and women looking to add some check marks to their portfolios, so when they seek investors or run for political positions in the future, they find it easier to swing the farmers and hardworking citizens their way. Or their families use farmlands as a cover business, so no one comes asking where their wealth comes from, which means they better know the difference between a hoe and a ho.

Separating us from the city is a small river. The only way in or out of our zone, once you wind back down the hillsides, is a single bascule bridge—talk about the perfect location.

Behind me, the door to the room opens and closes, but I don’t bother looking, the soft cedar scent of his cologne giving him away with a single inhale.

Damiano’s palms close around my shoulders, and he glides them down my blazer, giving me a light squeeze. “Everything will work out, Rocklin.”

“I’m not concerned. There are plenty more students in this school to pick from.” None of which we’re interested in that we’re not already testing, but I don’t need to tell him this. He already knows.

“I’m not talking about the girl and her ranking.” He steps closer. “I’m talking about what your father told you yesterday, but you knew that already. I tried to talk to you about it before, but you cut me out.”

He’s right, I did, but if he’s brave enough to ask, he needs to be required to actually do so.

“Don’t cut me out. You’re stressed.” His voice ends in a low whisper, and from behind, he brings my knuckles to his warm, soft lips. “I can help with that.” His free hand slides around my body, pulling me further into him.

This is typical Damiano behavior, dying to be the white knight and waiting for the moment I need one, a moment I hope never comes.

The girls know about his offer of marriage, just as they know it’s not going to happen, and of course, it’s not dueto my late mother’s one marital condition that her children would never be the victims of an arranged marriage—I guess her death overrode that little clause.

It’s because I’m not interested in becoming my sister and the disaster she’s become. Plus, my father would never allow the union, and it has nothing to do with the relentless efforts of my father’s business associate’s heir, Oliver Henshaw, shooting his shot with me every chance he gets.

---