Page 35 of Tempting Little Thief

There’s something hidden behind this prep-school princess’s green eyes, a sharpness built like armor but worn like silk. A sly sort of sadist enveloped in a pretty fucking package that’s yet to be unwrapped. It taunts me, making my teeth ache with the need to tear into it. To shed the smiling shadows in her gaze, one sharp bite at a time until I peel her back enough, the real her shines through.

Spoiled socialites don’t have that, and they sure as fuck aren’t surrounded by armed guards. My smirk deepens at the thought.

Straight-up TAC team fuckers were all around that building and I still got to her, left her pissed and pantin’ the last time, and I enjoyed every fucking second.

The girl’s used to getting what she wants when she wants it, so I had to show her who the boss would be, and it ain’t her. Her frustrated little growl replays in my head, and a low chuckle leaves me.

Pulling out my phone, I shoot her a quick message.

Me: What’d you use?

Not long after I press send, her text comes through.

Rich Girl: Am I supposed to detect a hint of intellect behind such a question?

Damn, she even texts like a ritzy bitch.

Me: When you thought of me these last three nights. You use a vibrator or your pretty little fingers?

A grin curves my mouth, and I don’t have to wait more than a few seconds for a response.

Rich Girl: Bastian, if you would please …

Rich Girl: Fuck.

Rich Girl: OFF.

My tongue slips over my lip, spinning the silver ring there.

A frown pulls at my brows, and I shove my phone into my jacket pocket.

I shouldn’t have told her my real name. Ineveruse my real name. Just Bass. Sometimes Bishop.

NeverBastian.

Maybe that’s why I gave her that name, so she couldn’t find me, couldn’t search for my secrets. When I moved to this town, I was told my file was erased, that what I did disappeared the same way I did, but I don’t know if that means completely. I used to trip, waiting for the day someone came banging down the doors with shiny silver bracelets, asking for me, be it the cops or even the dude who dropped me here. After a year or so, I stopped waiting and said fuck it. If they come, they come and they never did.

Took a while to prove myself and start getting paid, but the minute I did, I started saving. After a good six months, I bit the bullet and bought one of those hundred-dollar prepaid credit cards from the grocery store. I found a website that helps you find people, and after the ninety-nine-dollar fee, plus five more months of waiting, they found jack shit on my mom.

I’ve dug a little deeper since then, and still, four years and not a fucking blip on the map. So now, I’m wondering if moneycanmove mountains, and there really is zero record of me to be found, the way there’s nothing that helps me find her.

For all I know, Rich Girl doesn’t give a damn who the criminal she let fuck her is, but I was inside that big ass, highly guarded building. Twice. That’s sure to make the wheels spin, ain’t it? Have her wondering who I am and where I came from?

I’m no one, and I came from shit, but would she let me play with her body if she knew I stood over my dad’s dead one with a smile?

I bet the fuck not.

Then again, she’s not what she seems, so maybe she would.

Maybe … she’d stand beside me, her lips curled just the same.

A low laugh leaves me, and I shake my head.

Yeah, fucking right.

Hayze rolls to a stop behind the drugstore, and together, we climb out.

I push all thoughts to the back of my mind and allow it to go numb.

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