Page 28 of The Biting Bargain

"The way I see it, you want something from me, not the other way around."

I scoff, and she crosses her arms in front of her chest, unknowingly pushing her boobs into better display and I have to force my gaze back to her face. What's wrong with me tonight? Probably the broken curse.

My beast has the hots for her. Not me.

Kissing her that night had been just a slip-up.

Touching her, making her come. Making her mine…

I give myself a sharp mental shake. This is just a bargain. A business transaction. Never thought I’d strike up something like that with a human.

However, I can't help but respect her courage. No human has dared to challenge me in a long time.

I cock my head. "What is your condition?"

"One million in cash."

I shake my head, chuckling. Of course she wants money. Humans are so predictable. Fine, she probably needs to pay off the thugs. But what the hell has she done to be in such debt to the nastiest mobster in town in the first place?

"So modest," I deadpan.

"Okay, two million."

Her expression is dead serious. The corner of my mouth twitches again. She’d probably be a better poker player than I gave her credit for. And what the hell, two million to me is a grab for coffee. Peanuts. I shrug.

"All right," I say. "You got yourself a deal, little dove."

I doubt she understands what she's gotten herself into. However, she nods slowly, and in all seriousness holds out her hand.

As if in a trance, I take it. Her skin is warm, soft, alive, and we shake hands on our deal. Which I hope is nothing more than a minor bump in the road towards my goal.

Because that's all this girl is to me, if I play my cards right.

A bump in the road.

ChapterEleven

Polly

"Don't touch anything."

Vincent is leading me down an endless hallway that leads deeper into his vast estate. The entire deal looks like the clocks have stopped in 1901, with dark wood paneling everywhere, high ceilings that vanish in the darkness above our heads and huge oil paintings of illustrious and no doubt super-rich vampires lining the walls, all ancient members of the Renard clan that seem to sneer down on me as if a bug has crawled into their hallowed halls.

I hurry after him. With every step a sharp thrill of pain slices through my ankle, but I grit my teeth and walk on.

I brought this all on myself. I should have just told them that I’m a witch at that blasted screening. I would have been kicked out right away and never would have entered Club Sanguine in the first place.

Granted, I still would have to deal with Patrick’s mafia friends, but at least that would be the only clusterfuck on my hands. Instead, I'm following a bad-tempered vampire through his fancy mansion.

Because I still need the cash. My situation has not changed a bit. And the mob sharks won't let go so quickly. As soon as I so much as peek a toe out of my apartment, no doubt the next pair of friendly debt collectors will be waiting for me — and this time they'll probably have brought heavier guns than just a lewd grin and a set of meaty paws.

"Ouch!"

I must have misstepped, or set my foot wrong, or maybe my ankle just had enough for today. Searing pain shoots up my leg, causing me to stumble against an antique sideboard next to the wall. I can just avoid falling flat on my face. But with horror, I watch the bust that is standing on top of the sideboard — probably just as antique and overpriced as everything else in here, and depicting another scowling Renard forebear — sway and tip over the edge. It comes down with an ominous crunch, bursting on the shiny checkerboard tiles, marble shards skittering everywhere.

Vincent spins, glaring at me.

"I said don’t touch anything."

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