Even Money

  This sucked, and mostly because he wouldn’t bring this up unless it was serious. And if it was serious, then it was an issue. “What does she know about me?”

  “Enough to understand the situation. She doesn’t need me to do anything.”

  “You mean, leave me? She doesn’t need you to leave me?” The words came out harsher than she had intended, and his face hardened in response.

  “I’ll never leave you. You know that.”

  He emphasized the word “leave” and that was a tell in itself. He wanted a divorce. He would support her, protect her, but wanted a divorce. What did a world look like without him as her husband?

  She shook her head. “No. I can’t. He’ll…” She looked up at him. “He’ll kill me.”

  She whispered the statement and believed every word of it. Her father would kill her. Not physically, but the mental strain, the exhaustive chess games of manipulation he played, the stress and the torture he would put her through… she’d be back on a rooftop, wanting to end it. Only this time, there wouldn’t be a Dario to save her. This time, she’d jump.

  “Gwen.”

  Her father could fix this. One call and he’d take care of the girl. She’d be gone, and Gwen would be safe for another decade, maybe longer. Dario wasn’t a man who fell in love easily. Even their marriage, their ten years together … it had never been true love—not the sort of reckless heady emotion between two souls. Their love had grown slowly, a friendship, fed with mutual respect and adoration for each other.

  Her breath stalled at the path she’d just considered. That was the danger in being Robert Hawk’s daughter. Spend enough time around evil, and you start accepting the options it provided.

  She looked at her husband. “How long has this been going on?”

  “Not long. A month or so. Less than two.”

  The signs were all there. Gwen had known about him ending things with Meghan, had noticed the new suite that he’d pulled out of the rental pool. Suite 908. A new home for a new girl. Typical behavior, yet when combined with his late nights and distraction, it was alarming. Her anxiety worsened.

  He reached out and grabbed her hand. “I’m not doing anything right now except talking to you about this.”

  “No.” She shook her head, a short and jerky movement that caused a twinge of pain in her neck. “No. You can’t.” She pulled her hand away. “You promised me.”

  He had promised her safety, to be a conduit between her and her father. He promised to be her right-hand, to help her rebuild The Majestic’s reputation. He had promised to marry her, to take her out of that house, to give her a new life. He had delivered on all of those promises, for all of this time. He couldn’t stop now. He couldn’t throw her away just because he had fallen in love.

  Love. God. How terrible was she to not want him to be in love? He deserved that. He’d done so much for her. Was it fair for her to hold him hostage?

  “Don’t make me be this way.” She held his eyes and begged him with her gaze. “I just … I’m not ready. You can date her, you can love her, just don’t… don’t leave me.”

  She was pathetic. Where was the strong woman that was supposed to reign over this town? Where was the woman who had done so many great things in the last decade?

  But Dario had been beside her with all of those things. Encouraging her. Comforting her when she was exhausted. Giving her a kick in the ass when she was afraid. Handling the dirty details while her hands remained clean.

  She stared at him and saw a pain that matched her own. He was one of two of the best men she knew, and her confidence in his loyalty had been unquestioned. He’d never ask anything if it would cause her pain, yet as she searched his face for an answer, she only saw disaster.

  Thirty-One

  BELL

  “So….?” Meredith raised an eyebrow at me and turned away from the stove, a prepackaged bag of chicken stir-fry beginning to crackle in the skillet. “How was San Diego?”

  I popped a baby carrot into my mouth and leaned against the kitchen counter, buying some time as I crunched through it. While I’d confessed to her my continued relationship with Dario, I hadn’t shared any details about Gwen’s father. “It was good.”

  “Good?” She put down the spatula and crossed her arms over her chest. “Come on now. We’re alone in the house, for the first time in forever. Spill. Is his bratwurst as talented as it is delicious? Or is he all sizzle and no substance?”

  I laughed. “Oh my god. Leave your Top Chef obsession out of my sex life.”

  “Ah-HA!” She pointed at me. “So there was sex. Come on. Spill it. I’m growing cobwebs down there. Let me fuck vicariously through you.”

  I elbowed her out of the way and picked up the spatula, pushing around the vegetables and flipping over a few chunks of chicken. “Fine. There was…” I closed my eyes and exhaled deeply. “Good sex. Insane sex.”

  “Better-than-Ian Sex?” she challenged.

  “Can’t-Even-Remember-Who-Ian-Is Sex.” I fixed her with a look and she bounced a little in place.

  “Damn, girl. That’s not even fair.” She opened the cabinet and pulled out two paper plates, setting them out on the counter. “Especially since this glow seems more than just post-orgasm.” She leaned forward and peered at my face as if examining it for evidence. “Dare I say…” Her eyes widened. “Holy shit.”

  I shoved her away. “You’re so dramatic.”

  “You’re in love with him?” She glanced over her shoulder as if Lydia and Jackie might suddenly pop out of spin class and into the hall. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought you were just … I mean, he’s married, right?”

  “Right. And we were casual, or I was trying to be casual but …” I turned down the burner and set the spatula down. “I don’t know. I couldn’t stay away from him. I tried. And you know me. I fought against feeling for him with every ounce in my being, but it still happened.”

  That was sort of a lie. My love hadn’t just happened. It had perched on my shoulder in the casino, and followed me through every subsequent interaction, taking its time to slip into my heart and suction-cup itself to every artery until I couldn’t help but breathe it in. I had been done for the minute our eyes had met.

  “Can’t say I’m surprised.” She opened up the fridge and reached in, grabbing a two-liter of Diet Coke and twisting off the cap. “Something’s been different with you, ever since you met him. Not to be all Debbie Downer on you, but what’s the plan from here? Is he gonna leave his wife?”

  “I don’t know.” I pushed my glass toward her and watched as she refilled it. “He’s talking to her about it now.” I glanced at the clock and imagined the two of them at an intimate candlelit table, discussing their marriage. A stab of jealousy and fear hit.

  What was the plan? Did we even have one?

  —I spoke to Gwen.

  how’d it go?

  —Not great. Come to the suite tonight.

  your manners suck

  —PLEASE come to the suite tonight. My cock misses you. So does my heart.

  it’s been four hours. Your cock is high maintenance.

  —text me when you are on your way

  omg. stop.

  —I love you

  FINE. I’ll be there. give me a few hours

  —I love you

  I love u too. I’m sorry about Gwen.

  —I’ll figure it out. Be safe.

  I read his last text with a smile and tossed the phone onto the bed. Turning back to my suitcase, I pulled items out and returned them to their proper place. I thought of Dario’s comments, his critical appraisal of my room, his urge to stay in the suite.

  Just a few weeks in his world, and I could feel the pull, the easy intoxication of it all. I could say yes and have daily maid service. Say yes and never do laundry again. Say yes and kiss goodbye to frozen pizzas and fast food, credit card debt and car payments. I could quit my job and spend my days poolside, my afternoons shopping, my nights drinking expensive win
e and bouncing up and down on the most powerful cock in Vegas.

  It would be easy.

  I stopped before the tall mirror in my room, twisting my hair up and turning my head, imagining a string of diamonds around my neck, chandelier earrings hanging from my ears, a glittery evening gown hugging my curves. I dropped my hair with a shaky inhale. In the last month, I had searched the Internet for photos of Gwen and Dario, had seen countless images of the statuesque brunette at charity events, ribbon cutting ceremonies, and social events. She didn’t look like a girl who grew up on welfare. She didn’t look like someone who once stood, bruised and shivering, in a police station and told a story that no one believed.

  Guilt stabbed at me, because she also didn’t look like someone who grew up with a psychopathic father. I wouldn’t trade childhoods with her. I don’t know anyone who would.

  I turned away from the mirror and hated every bit of this situation. Yet, I couldn’t walk away, not from the man who now owned my heart.

  DARIO

  A few hours. Enough time for him to get Gwen home, spend some more time with her, and then leave. A few hours would give them enough time to talk through this and find a solution, or a few possibilities. He sent Bell a final text and switched his phone to silent, pushing it into his pocket. Looking into the bathroom’s mirror, he straightened the line of his suit, pulling at the cuff of each sleeve, and watching the man in the mirror critically.

  He looked like success. The expensive suit was tailored to fit perfectly on his powerful build. The watch had a ring of diamonds glinting from its face. He looked exactly like the image he had worked two decades to create. Strong. Fierce. Successful.

  He looked in the mirror and didn’t see any of the fear that gripped his heart. Fear that, decades ago, he had sworn to destroy. Fear that, pre-Bell, didn’t exist.

  He swallowed, placing his hands on either side of the marble sink, and leaned toward the mirror, staring into his own eyes.

  “He’ll kill me.” Gwen had believed the words, her face pinching in a way he hadn’t seen in a long time.

  He was supposed to protect women, not endanger them. But right now, if he kept moving forward, he’d put them both in danger. The only two women he’d ever loved, at risk because he couldn’t control his dick and his heart.

  He should give up. Step back into his role. Ship Bell off to fucking Alaska and set her up with an apartment and job there. Send her money every month and beg her to ignore his calls.

  Because he would call. He would visit. He would drop to his knees in front of her Alaskan apartment and beg her to marry him. There was no way, with her somewhere on this earth, that he’d be able to stay away.

  He was fucked any way he turned. Killing himself if he ended things with Bell. Endangering both her and Gwen if he chose Bell. There was no scenario where this wouldn’t end badly.

  Give me a few hours. He needed a few lifetimes to figure this out, but would barely last a few hours without seeing her.

  He opened the door to the bathroom and stepped back into the restaurant. Gwen stood by the entrance, her Ferrari visible through the glass, a white-gloved attendant pulling open the door.

  A few hours. She smiled at him, and he could see the thin veneer of her composure.

  Fuck Robert Hawk. Fuck his callous and ruthless soul. Fuck his barbaric need for control.

  Gwen didn’t deserve this. None of them did.

  The steam filled the shower, a thousand individual streams of water hitting his skin and scalding his muscles. He pressed a hand against the tile wall, hanging his head, the water running down his face. Rolling his neck, he felt the bones crack into place.

  The shower door opened and he lifted his head to see Gwen step in, her hair loose, expression quiet. He turned, facing her, and she closed the door, moving forward and into the spray.

  “Gwen…” His voice cracked, and it was a plea more than a name. Please don’t make me tell you no. Please don’t press this. Please don’t cry and beg and break my heart. She moved closer, pressing her body against his, and he slid his hands down the side of her body, closing them around her waist. She lifted her chin, her face free of the spray, and he watched as her hair grew damp, water splattering across her shoulders, rivulets running down her breasts, the brush of her nipples against his chest.

  He hadn’t seen her naked in years, the passing time softening her curves and edges. She was a beautiful woman. She deserved to be admired, to be lusted after, to be pleased. But not by him. Now, as she lifted onto her toes, her lips pressing against his neck, her body sliding along his, he felt nothing but sadness for her effort. He said her name softly, stepping away, and she pressed on, her leg slipping in between his, her thigh hard against his cock. She noticed his lack of arousal and lifted her chin, looking up into his eyes, and asking the question with her stare.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She tried to kiss him and he pulled away from her mouth but brought her into his body, his arms wrapping around her, hugging her frame against his chest. “I’ll always love you.”

  She clung to him, her head against his heart, nails digging into his back, and said nothing.

  After the shower, she dressed in jeans, a silk sweater and tennis shoes. He stood on the upper level of their suite and watched her move to the door, grabbing her keys off the hook.

  He didn’t ask her where she was going. He watched her leave and walked down the hall, turning on the light in the closet, illuminating the neat rows of pressed and starched clothing.

  Give me a few hours. He thought of Bell’s text and glanced at the clock, the time growing late. Reaching for a pair of workout shorts and a T-shirt, he dressed. Eyed his phone. Stood on the balcony and wondered where, or to whom, Gwen had gone. He wasted a half hour with emails, checked in with department heads, and finally, just before midnight, got a text from Bell.

  —on my way

  Relief washed over him, and he willed himself to be patient. No point in rushing downstairs to her suite. He needed to show restraint, to learn some fucking patience. He poured a hard drink, his first in years, and carried it into the media room. He turned on sports, listened to late night commentators discuss playoff system changes and sipped it slowly, the bourbon lingering on his tongue, each swallow a burst of fire down his throat. He had a thought, pulled out his phone, and sent her a text.

  Go in, get undressed and wait on the bed.

  He closed his eyes and sank lower on the leather couch. Took another sip and imagined the look of her, laid out on that bed, waiting for him.

  THE KILLER

  Claudia had a cramp in her upper back. Lifting her arms slightly, she shifted, rolling her shoulders and rounding her spine, then arched it, trying to work the muscles. Fuck. With her luck, Bell would walk in the suite, and Claudia would be in the middle of a spasm.

  It was the small space of this closet. She should have gone under the bed instead. Laid down on that plush rug and waited there. She tried twisting in place, and one elbow bumped painfully against the wall of the coat closet. She debated about moving, but this was, after touring the entire apartment, the best bet. With the door opened just a small crack, she would be able to see Bell’s movements. Not in the kitchen, but as soon as she walked into the living room or headed to the bedroom, she’d have a clear view. She could lift the gun and finish this all.

  And, if Bell Hartley wasn’t alone … if Dario Capece was with her? Claudia could just stay in place. She’d spent ten months in Robert Hawk’s cell. That had taught her how to sit tight and wait. Eventually, the man would go to the bathroom, or take a shower, or fall asleep. Eventually, there would be an opening.

  Besides, that second scenario wasn’t likely. Dario had taken Gwen to dinner. They’d be back in their suite. He’d be telling her lies and pretending to love her.

  Claudia heard something and stopped, mid-stretch of her neck. She cocked her ear toward the door, listening.

  There was the soft swoosh of a door against the tile. S
hoes slapped quietly across the floor. The front door closed. It was the quiet movements of a single individual. She smiled and carefully leaned forward, looking through the crack, unable to see her.

  A drawer slammed. Silverware rattled, and she raised her gun, a bullet already in the chamber. Footsteps moved, and then Bell was passing by the closet, coming into view. The girl stopped, facing away from Claudia, and pulled a phone from her back pocket. Easing the door open, she tightened her grip on the pistol, lifting the gun and lining up the glossy brunette head in its sights.

  An obsession with her cell phone would be her demise. A fitting end to a girl determined to ruin the Hawk dynasty. Claudia exhaled, paused, and tightened her trigger finger, following the training of Robert Hawk.