Everything for Us (The Bad Boys #3)(21)
Author: M. Leighton

“Just that one of their plants had called in the night before and said that one of you had been pretending to be both twins, but that the other one—the real one—was back.”

“A ‘plant’?”

She nods again. “That’s what he said. Or at least that’s what it sounded like he said. He had a very thick accent.”

“Russian?”

“Yes, it sounded like it.”

I feel my frown deepen right along with my concern. “And this guy said the plant called in the night before? When was it that you overheard this?”

“Um, the day you brought me home, I think. They kept me bound and gagged and blindfolded almost the entire time, so my sense of time is skewed. When I think back to those hours, I can’t . . . seem . . . to . . .”

A shiver passes through her and she closes her eyes for a second. It’s plain to see she’s still shaken by the whole thing. I’m sure most people in her position would be. She just puts on such a good front that it’s easy to forget she’s been through a traumatic experience. And very recently, too. I guess with everything that’s going on, the movement of time seems, by turns, inordinately fast or inordinately slow.

I suppose all of our lives are in a kind of holding pattern until we get this over and done with, and behind us. And, like it or not, we’re all in this together. These bastards have adversely affected and touched each of our lives.

I think over the timeline. If she’s remembering correctly, that means someone tipped off the Russians on Sunday. Presumably after I arrived in town. That means they have eyes on the club most likely, which doesn’t surprise me. But was it merely someone in the club, a patron? Or was it someone . . . closer? Closer to Cash? Someone on the inside?

He’s been pretty cautious, so I’m inclined to think it was someone watching him and watching his life from the perspective of a clubber.

I growl through my gritted teeth.

“What is it?” she asks.

“Cash is a godda—” I catch myself before I finish the phrase. I guess some parts of the old me never died, like the ingrained urge to watch my language around a lady. “He’s a damned idiot for trusting any of you people.”

“Any of ‘you people,’” she says, clearly taking exception. “I know you can’t possibly mean me.”

“And why the hell not? You might be the worst one of them all.”

“How could you even say that? I’ve done nothing to deserve your distrust.”

I scoff. “Maybe not, but you’ve done nothing to earn my trust, either.”

“So not telling anyone who you really are isn’t enough to rate a little trust?”

“Hell no! It serves your purposes just as much as mine. I can just imagine the kind of social shitstorm you’d stir up if you told anybody about the man you thought was Nash.” My laugh is bitter. “No, don’t act like you’re doing me some big favor. Your motives are selfish, just like the rest of us.”

“You can’t go through life not trusting anyone.”

“Watch me,” I snap.

She looks wounded, no doubt some kind of feminine ploy practiced specifically to manipulate. Well, it won’t work on me. She’s not getting under my skin. I want her; that’s no secret. But that’s the only thing I’m interested in—sex. Nothing more. I even did the right thing and warned her about me. If she chooses to ignore that warning, that’s on her.

“I think this was a mistake,” she says, her voice small in the heavy air.

“Let me give you a valuable tip about people and life. Everybody wants something. Everybody. As soon as you can get that through your head, the better off you’ll be.”

She looks down at her hands as she toys with the stem of her martini glass. “And what is it that you want?”

“Revenge,” I bite out. “Justice.” She nods slowly but doesn’t look back up at me. Again, I think of my goal to have those long, long legs wrapped around me. I should hide it from her. Woo her instead. No doubt it’s what the high-society types expect. But that’s exactly why I won’t do either. I want to shock her. I want her to know that I change for no one. I yield to no one. “And a few hours alone with you.”

I want her to be clear about my intentions. Because we will be sleeping together. And sooner rather than later. I’m the kind to take what I want. She needs to know that.

It won’t change anything. I know when a woman is already mine. And this one is.

Much to her detriment, probably. But again, that’s on her. She can’t say I didn’t warn her.

* * *

On our way out, Marissa does her best to stick to the wall and dodge virtually everyone in the room. Again, I think to myself that this isn’t easy for her, letting this life go, letting this person go. And this is just the first night. What does she think will happen after word gets out? Or when she goes back to work? When she’s shunned? I should probably warn her that she doesn’t have it in her, that she’s nowhere near strong enough. But then again, it’s not my place, so I’ll just keep my mouth shut.

An attractively curvaceous girl stops Marissa just as she’s trying to dart toward the exit, the home stretch. She has chin-length blond hair, a nice rack, and hips to hang on to. I’m sure most of Marissa’s friends call her fat, but I’m also sure most of Marissa’s friends are anorexic bitches, so . . .

“Marissa! Wait!”

There’s no polite way to pretend she didn’t hear, so Marissa turns toward the girl and smiles.

“Heather, how are you?” Marissa turns on her overly happy, public face.

“I heard you had to pull out early from your trip to the Caymans.”

Although I’m sure she doesn’t appreciate the reference to her cutting short the trip for personal reasons, Marissa’s smile is unwavering. She’s good under pressure. “And where did you hear that?”

“Tim mentioned something about it.”

“A gossipy man? That’s not very common.”

The girl, Heather, looks stung, but she recovers quickly. “I don’t think of it as gossip. It’s just that you’re so . . . dedicated, he thought something was wrong. I just wanted to catch you before you left tonight to make sure you’re okay.”

I feel a pang of sympathy for this girl. She seems like she’s genuinely concerned, like she’d like to be a friend to Marissa. Little does she know, she’s better off not.