Deal with the Devil (9 page)

“Hurry the fuck up,” I say, my voice without pity.

The safe opens to reveal stacks of cash, still wrapped up like it just came from the bank. Cash has a scent to it that’s unmistakable, fresh and green like freedom. I inhale deeply as a slow smile speeds across my face. There’s probably at least ten grand here. And I got here first.

Cecile comes back with Mara’s suitcase.

“Load it up,” I tell her.

There are tears in her eyes. “You really gonna take all of it?”

I stare down at her. All I can think of is how easy it would be to just put one between her eyes and save myself all this trouble. But she’s Mara’s mother, even if she is human garbage.

“Can’t take what already belongs to you. Hurry it up.”

I watch them load the stacks of bills into the front pocket of the suitcase, alert for any sudden movements. People always get stupider around money.

“Push it over here,” I command when they’re done. Cecile has to do it because Mack’s hand has swollen to almost double its normal size. “If either one of you come out of this room while I’m leaving, I will shoot you both.”

“Are you really marrying my daughter?” Cecile’s voice is as whisper-soft as I’ve ever heard it

“Yeah.” I let all of the disgust that I feel for them show on my face. “Don’t take it personal if I’d rather not call you Mom.”

“Is she okay?”

It’s the first time that I’ve seen her show any interest in her daughter. Or at least as more than a walking ATM machine.

“She will be.”

Cecile just looks sad and lost as I back slowly out of the room. But the rage twisting Mack’s features makes me think that he won’t give up that easily.

A
fter three hours
alone in Leo’s apartment, I want to get a pair of tweezers and pull out every hair on my head. At least that would be some small amount of entertainment.

The man doesn’t have a computer or cable. He says that he can do what he needs with a cell phone. The television has a stack of DVDs in a drawer underneath it, but they’re all old Westerns movies.

I have never been so bored in my life.

It doesn’t help that every time I look at that leather couch, I remember being forced over it so he could spank my naked backside. I still can’t believe I let him do that, even if it seemed like I didn’t really have much of a choice at the time.

No one has ever spanked me before — not my mother or any of her boyfriends and not my grandfather, even when I was a kid. It was the most degrading thing that has ever happened to me.

And the hottest.

I push that thought away with an effort. I still haven’t come to terms with what he’s asking me to do. Be his sex slave for a while or else I’m on my own…what kind of shit is that?

Except I can’t deny that no one has ever made me feel that way before.

I try to be respectful of his privacy while I wait. But after a while, I start wandering around the apartment. I enter his bedroom and it’s exactly what I imagined it would be — all dark wood and neutral colors. It makes me want to go out and get a bright red bedspread just to see his reaction.

Although, I probably shouldn’t assume that we’ll even be sharing this room after we’re married. Maybe he’s planning to keep me locked in a cage like a dog that’s being crate-trained.

Married. 
The thought of it sends a nervous shiver coursing down my spine. Not for the first time, I question whether or not I’ve completely lost my mind. I’m actually considering the idea of marrying a complete stranger.

And not just any stranger, a man who puts me over his knee when I do something he doesn’t like.

I am a feminist. I believe in equal pay and equal rights. But somehow that doesn’t stop the wave of desire that rises up when I remember what he did to me.

Fuck.

The first thing I do when the boredom gets to be too much is go looking for the liquor cabinet. I’d seen Leo pull a bottle off of a shelf in the kitchen, but I find the motherlode in a little cabinet in the living room.

I choose an expensive-looking whiskey and take a swig directly from the bottle. The delicious burn spreads down my throat to curl and smoke in the pit of my insides. I love alcohol. It’s one of the few things in my life that never changes.

What I should do is study for the exam that I have to go back to school to take. Leo said he’d drive me up to Ithaca tomorrow. But my books, notes, and even my computer are still back at Papa’s house. At least, I hope the laptop is still there. If Cecile found it, the thing is already for sale at a pawn shop.

And I’m too distracted to study, regardless. All that shit that seemed so important, even as recently as a few days ago, pales in comparison to the dark thoughts swirling in my head.

Worrying about grades and a social life kind of pales in comparison to figuring out what to do when your own mother tries to kill you.

In an effort to distract myself from my own thoughts, I wander around Leo’s bedroom. The bay windows give a nice view of the city, for what that’s worth. The bed is one of those big four-poster deals that dominates the room, but I can’t help but think it could use a throw or some decorative pillows.

Maybe he’s color blind, I think. That might explain why everything in his apartment is done in shades of gray and slightly darker gray.

The closet is one of those big walk-in deals. Unlike literally every other part of the apartment, it actually qualifies as a little bit of a mess. On one side are a row of neatly pressed suits and dress shirts, which are apparently the only thing Leo ever wears, but the other side is another story. Cardboard boxes are stacked one on top of the other and almost overwhelm the narrow space.

The boxes are all marked with the same words…
Amber and Ian.
 Part of me knows it would be rude to go through his belongings without permission. But the bigger part of me is just pissed that he left me here with nothing to do.

What kind of rational human being doesn’t even have the internet?

The first box on a stack near me isn’t even taped shut, only the flaps folded together on top keep it closed. I peel them away and peek inside, hoping I’ll find something more interesting than clothes that he never got around to donating to charity.

A silver picture frame is the first thing I find after opening the box. A woman and a little boy smile directly into the camera. Their faces are shiny and bright.

Interesting
.

“What are you doing?”

I expect the whiskey to dull my reaction time, but it must also have an effect on my hearing. I definitely didn’t hear Leo open the door to the apartment, walk across the hardwood floor or come in the bedroom.

He’s glaring down at me when I slowly turn on the floor to face him. The bottle of whiskey still hangs from my limp hand.

A dark red climbs slowly up his neck. “Is that my Glenmorangie?”

I glance down at the bottle. “Maybe.”

Leo stalks into the closet, his expression murderous.

I should be scared, watching him bear down on me like that with angry intent in his eyes. Instead, I’m just relieved he’s back. Maybe it’s the liquor talking, but I don’t want to be alone anymore.

“I missed you.”

The words halt his steps. “What?”

“I was bored.” A little hiccup escapes my lips and I giggle. “I’m glad you’re back.”

He clearly doesn’t know what to say that. I get the feeling that it’s been awhile since he came home to somebody. Maybe that woman in the photo was the last one.

“Sorry about this.” I peer blearily down at the bottle. The words won’t stop moving enough for me to read it. I must have drunk more than I thought. “Was it expensive?”

“You can buy me another one.” He stares down at me with his arms crossed over his large chest. The expression on his face seems more curious now than angry. “Why are you going through my shit.”

“I’m a snoop.” I giggle again that word seeming suddenly hilarious. 
Snoop! 
“My mom used to call me that all of the time because I always knew where she’d hidden everything. I can’t help it.”

“I should’ve locked the door.” His face is grim, but I can hear a trace of amusement in his voice. “Find anything interesting?”

If I wasn’t so drunk, I wouldn’t have had the nerve to ask. But that’s the great thing about alcohol, it does a good job of shutting down the part of your brain where you keep your common sense.

“Who’s the chick in the photo?”

I expect him to refuse to answer, so it shocks the hell out of me when he simply says, “That’s my ex-wife, Amber.”

I kind of guessed that, but I’m still surprised to hear him say it. I can’t imagine him as the married type. A real marriage, I mean, not the blasphemous scam that he’s about to pull with me.

“The kid yours, too?”

“Hers. I haven’t seen him since the divorce.”

The careful mask hasn’t slipped from his face, but something in the way he says it makes me wonder. “You miss him?”

Leo shrugs, as if he hadn’t thought about it. “Ian was a good kid.”

“It’s hard to imagine you married.”

He raises an eyebrow. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

It’s impossible to mistake the sexual innuendo in his voice. I don’t know whether to throw myself into his arms or run screaming into the night.

“You’re not gonna spank me again, are you?”

Oh. My. God.

I can’t believe that I just said that. Why the hell am I giving him ideas?

But Leo just smiles. He reaches for me and my heart stops. But his hand continues right past me to the open box above my head.

I stay sprawled on the floor as he rummages in the box. The room slowly spins around me. He’s close enough that his leg just barely brushes my shoulder. I tell myself that I haven’t scooted back because any movement causes a swell of nausea to come over me, not because I’m enjoying being so close him.

Leo drops something small in my lap. I look down to see a jewelry box. My fingers fumble to get it open. When I do, a princess cut diamond ring with a white gold band is revealed.

“She gave it back to me before she left.” Leo’s voice is completely devoid of emotion. I wish I had enough brain cells still active to figure out what that meant. “We can get it resized, make this shit look at least a little bit legit.”

My mouth works silently before I can get any words out. “I can’t take this.”

“You’re not 
taking 
anything. Girls wear rings when they get married. I’ll get it back when this is all over.”

“Oh…okay,” I say lamely, not sure exactly what words you use when accepting another woman’s wedding ring for your fake marriage. “Um, thanks.”

If Leo notices my discomfort, he ignores it. Ignoring emotional reactions seems to be something he’s good at.

“I got your stuff.” I look where he’s pointing and see my computer bag and suitcase sitting by the bed.

My whiskey-addled brain doesn’t miss that he’s brought my stuff into his bedroom. And his bedroom is the only bedroom in the apartment.

I swallow hard. “Am I sleeping in here.”

“That couch wasn’t made for sleeping on, the cushions’ll get deformed,” he grumbles. “It’s the bed or the floor.”

I can’t tell if he’s ignoring the obvious on purpose, just to mess with me, or if he’s really this obtuse. “But you’ll be sleeping on the bed, too?”

His smile is dark. “It is my bed.”

“So, you want me to sleep with you…tonight?”

The smile widens. “You can call it that, sure. I also like payment for services rendered.”

The asshole is basically calling me a prostitute. Fucker. “Services haven’t been rendered, yet. I’m not having sex with you until after we’ve walked down the aisle.”

He seems to find that hilarious. And I seethe as he laughs at me. “You want to wait for your wedding night? Don’t tell me you’ve been saving yourself for marriage.”

“I’m not a virgin, not that I owe you an explanation.” I struggle to my feet, grabbing onto the lower bar to keep from falling right back down. “Maybe I just want to make sure you’re gonna hold up your end of the bargain.”

He snorts. “You think I set all this up as a trick to get in your pants? Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart.”

“You are not a nice person.” Even I can hear the pout in my voice.

“I’ve been told that before.”

I bet. I try to push past him, but my foot catches on a pair of loafers on the floor and I trip head-first into his arms. “Damnit.”

He catches me smoothly. I push down the thrill of desire that courses through my belly as his arms wrap around me.

“Lucky for you, I’m not into drunk broads. Vomit and barely conscious chicks aren’t my kinks.”

I burp and it tastes like stomach acid. “I don’t think those are anybody’s kinks.”

My face is turned away but I can hear the smile in his voice. “You might be surprised.”

When I try to pull away, his arms tighten around me. Before I can react, he’s lifting me off the ground and holding me against his chest like you’d cradle a child.

“Put me down.”

“No.” He walks back into the bedroom, his long legs making quick strides across the hardwood. “Eventually, you’re gonna figure out who gives the orders around here. You’re gonna be in a world of hurt, otherwise.”

The words fail to trigger the indignant reaction that they should. Instead, I feel a little shiver run through me at the dark promise in his voice.

And judging from the chuckle that rumbles against my side as I press into him, he feels it too.

It isn’t fair that someone this awful can make me feel things this good.

“I hate you.”

Leo just laughs, infuriating me even more.

He dumps me unceremoniously on the bed, making my head spin. I roll away from him onto my side. I’m determined not to give him anything else to laugh about, at least for the rest of the night.

But Leo has other ideas. His hand coasts over my hip and then I feel fingers working at the waistband on my jeans.

“Hey, what are you doing?”

“Getting you comfortable,” he says sedately. “You don’t want to sleep in your clothes.”

What he’s saying makes sense, but I can feel the darkly sensual current underneath his words as clear as the ringing of a bell.

His hands slide the jeans down past my hips, pulling harder as they catch on my thighs. I let out an involuntary sigh when they’re finally pulled off my ankles and tossed aside.

The rush of air cools my overheated skin. But the heat returns full force when Leo’s hands return to my legs, kneading the taut skin. Each stroke of his fingers causes a frisson of warmth to shoot through me.

“What are you doing?” I ask again. My voice breaks into a soft whimper when his hands move up to knead the sore muscles of my lower back.

“Getting you comfortable,” he says, just a fine edge of mockery in his voice.

It’s only in that moment that I realize just how vulnerable a position I’ve created for myself. Leo already had the advantage of size and strength, and now I’ve made myself easily confused and bleary with alcohol.

That isn’t a good combination.

But his hands remain on my back, soothing the little aches and knots that formed while I was drinking on the floor of his closet.

I go languid underneath the skillful fingers, my limbs heavy and loose. My eyes close and my breathing comes in little signs and moans. I couldn’t move even if I wanted to.

I’m so relaxed that I barely notice when he guides me to roll over on my back. That is, until his mouth descends on mine in a kiss that steals all of the air from my body.

There’s nothing relaxing about the silken thrust of his tongue in my mouth. It’s electrifying. And so arousing that for a moment my head is completely clear, all thoughts of sleep chased completely away.

He kisses like he wants to eat me alive. It’s all heat and the hard press of lips and teeth. He moves so the lines of his body meet mine, pressing me down into the mattress.