Made: A Bad Boy Romance (Bad Boy Games) (13 page)

“Oh, don’t pay any attention to me, putting the blushing bride on the spot.” The middle-aged woman bustles around the end of the counter, her arms filled with a frothy pile of lingerie in a rainbow of pastel colors. She holds one up to me. The sheer fabric won’t cover anything and maybe that’s the idea. I can’t imagine wearing it around Nathan. It’s too flimsy to last very long under his sensual assault.

“Hmmm. Usually, redheads look wonderful in peach, but it’s not right with your skin.” She tosses it on the counter and moves on to a periwinkle blue number. The neckline of the robe—if anything that’s see-through could be called that—is lined with dyed-to-match feathers that run down the front and around the hem.

I shake my head.

“Not the dramatic type. I understand.” She digs into a bin behind the counter and comes out with a length of dark red satin. When she holds it up to me, her face lights up. “Oh my, this is perfect and who knew? A redhead who looks amazing in red.”

I can’t help taking a peek at the price tag. Even if Harley & Sweet is paying for everything, old habits die hard. The number of zeros after the dollar sign makes my stomach lurch. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, but I think I need to try it on.”

“Go right ahead, dear. I’ll show you to the dressing rooms.”

I follow her while anxiety builds. When we entered the store, Nathan said he’d let me shop on my own. He didn’t give me time to ask why he was leaving me alone after insisting he had to stay with me twenty-four-seven. That said, I can’t imagine what danger might lurk in the plush dressing room of an exclusive department store.

I run the slippery silk of the red nightgown through my fingers. It feels amazing against my skin. When I hold it up and look into the mirror, I see that the sales clerk is right. The shade is just right, a dark red heading toward burgundy that’s similar in color to the dress I borrowed from Caylee.

The gown looks beautiful.

Then I think about what the sales clerk said:
Where are you going on your honeymoon?

I never mentioned anything to her about a wedding. I’m not wearing an engagement ring. How did she know? Or maybe the clerk made an educated guess. After all, it’s her job to know her customers. Maybe I’m being paranoid.

Make that definite:
yes, Brooke, you are being paranoid. As long as no one’s shooting at you, you’re safe.

I shiver as I pull my t-shirt over my head and wriggle out of the too short skirt that was sized for Samantha. The bra I’m wearing came from this department. The rest of the clothes I selected are supposed to be waiting for me at Will Call.

And then what? We’re on to Round 3. I need to make it through this round before worrying about the next.

The gown slides over my head like dream. The creamy straps of my bra mess with the way the bodice hangs, so I unfasten the clasp and let it fall to the floor. When I glance down, I notice the cell phone Marco De Luca gave me is lighting up with text messages.

*** Thank you for taking off your bra. I’m enjoying the view. Nice color, btw.

Fear trickles down the back of my neck. It was one thing to suspect hidden cameras in the hotel room, but here? I scan the walls, hunting for any sign of a camera or an indication of how I’m being observed. Nothing.

Who is this?

*** Guess

No. I hate games.

*** Too bad. Tag, you’re it.

Leave me alone.

*** Can’t do that. We’re playing. Why don’t you play with yourself? I liked the way you touched yourself on the bed. Do that again.

Fuck off

***We can do that, too, if you want.

***Pretty please? With a cherry on your pretty pussy? I’ll eat it all up. Promise.

I stab the power button, shut off the phone, scramble back into my clothes, and I’m halfway to the escalator when a hand slams over my mouth. He smells of cloves and sweat and bacon. Arms the size of tree trunks wrap around my body while other, smaller hands, stuff a gag in my mouth. Then the world flips upside down as he throws me over his shoulder.

In the middle of a busy department store in Manhattan.

No screams, except me, only mine are silent behind the gag.

Then everything goes black.

NATHAN

I’m tracking Brooke, keeping an eye on her from a distance, so I can make sure no one’s following us when Marco De Luca jams a gun into the small of my back. Right in the middle of ladies’ lingerie. He grinds the barrel, forcing me across the store and into the elevator, shielding the weapon with his body so we don’t scare the ladies exclaiming over the deals on the thirty-percent-off rack.

My eyes scan the interior of the elevator, hunting for anything I can use to turn the table on the asshole. Posters mounted in rigid plastic frames cover the wall panels. If I had a minute, I could crack one of those frames and use it for a blade to cut out De Luca’s heart.

With Marco, who is no fool, I don’t have a minute.

Son of a bitch.

I’m breathing easier once the elevator is moving. The short ride will give me all the time I need to focus and enter the zone. Once I’m in that place, I don’t come out until there’s blood, preferably not my own.

We rise all the way to the top of the numbers on the panel—and then keep going. The doors slide open, revealing a wide-open space under construction. Marco escorts me across the bare concrete. Sheets of dusty plastic hang from steel I-beams over our heads. We weave around ladders, tall cans of paint, and drywall goop, to finally come to a halt in front of an elderly man. He stands in front of an oddly ornate high-backed chair edged in gilt and upholstered in red velvet. It looks like a throne, which is appropriate, all things considered. I’m surprised he’s come here with only Marco for protection. I survey the surroundings to verify that none of the soldiers who normally flank the old man are hiding behind the hanging plastic shrouds.

He hasn’t changed in all the years since I saw him last. Same firm chin and barrel chest, the cheap shoes polished to a hard shine, and those dark eyes that miss nothing: Cesare De Luca, Marco’s grandfather, and the long-time head of the De Luca syndicate.

The pressure at the small of my back eases. I turn and watch Marco holster his gun. I lift a brow. “What’s with the piece? I thought we were friends, co-workers even.”

Cesare answers. “Nathan, please, you have to understand. There are eyes everywhere. We had to be careful, for your well-being more than ours.”

“I’m touched.”

Marco laughs.

“Are things so bad you have to stoop to tricks? Because if you’d given me a call and said you wanted to talk, you wouldn’t have needed to haul my ass here at gunpoint.”

“It had to look like you were taken against your will, and yes, things are bad. We’re at war.”

I glance at Marco. He shrugs like this is old news.

Since when?

After the turn of the twenty-first century, a massive push from the FBI and every other arm of the law inspired the East Coast families to melt into society. Business still went on as usual. Boxes fell off trucks; pretty women were sold for an hour or a night, and drugs changed hands. Only now it was the new syndicates, created from alliances between the families, who profited. Money flowed through more complicated channels, but the point was that it still flowed. The syndicates served their purpose. They made life more difficult for law enforcement, and the success of the syndicates ensured peace among the families, not only stateside but also around the world.

Until now, apparently.

“Whose side is Ferrara on?” I ask.

Cesare smiles. “That’s what I want you to find out.”

“Why didn’t you ask Tucker? Why go around him and come to me?”

“We’ve heard rumors that Tucker wants to become a player, and I’m not talking about his kinky games.” Cesare sinks into the chair and grips the armrest with a gnarled hand. “Tucker thinks he can use Harley & Sweet like a lever to destroy the syndicate. I won’t allow it.” His voice grows louder as he speaks. “We’ve worked too long and too hard to maintain the peace to allow it to be broken by an outsider.”

Tucker came to New York from the hills of East Tennessee carrying credentials from the Dixie Mafia that assured him a place with the East Coast families. Because Harley & Sweet was his creation, no one ever expected him to want to move beyond his little kingdom.

I rub my chin. “For every player and every game cycle, Tucker digs up all kinds of dirt. He’s got files and files of information on every player, more than enough for any variety of blackmail or coercion.”

Cesare’s face remains expressionless. “We approved and funded Tucker’s plans for Harley & Sweet. That’s not the issue. The problem now is that he’s withholding the data he’s gleaned. If he won’t share, he loses his seat at the table.”

“You want me to take Tucker out of the equation?”

“No. We want him alive, but on a leash.” Marco moves around the back of the chair until he’s standing next to his grandfather. “I’ve been trying to break his codes so I can get into the system without any luck. I don’t know what he’s got on those servers, but if he can make someone like Alexander Ferrara run scared, we’re all in trouble. You remember last night when he acted like he was worried the feds might send in a girl who was wired? Total lie. It’s not the FBI Tucker is worried about, it’s the syndicate. He knows we’re onto to him so he’s moved up his timetable. If you take him out, we lose our investment in Harley & Sweet.”

“And all that precious data. What do you want?”

“It’s not a coincidence you’ve been booted from the house and put in play in this game cycle.”

I’ve already figured this out for myself, but it’s like a punch to the gut to have it confirmed. “They did the same thing to Hunter Daniels. You know anything about Coulter?” Seth Coulter is the third guy on the security team. I hadn’t seen him in a few days.

Marco shakes his head. “He’s MIA and not picking up his cell.”

“Shit. What can I do?”

“Make sure Tucker loses.”

“Tucker’s not playing,” I protest. “The house never plays.”

Cesare’s eyes narrow. “Make no mistake, Tucker’s playing this game.”

My heart rate jacks when I think of how many things could go wrong with Tucker inside a game, yet still able to access the surveillance system and no security to control him. Maybe that was why nothing about this game had been remotely normal: no formal announcements of when a round has started or ended, no scoring, no sightings of other players.

Marco’s expression goes cold. “We think Ferrara is onto Tucker, as well, and that’s why he manipulated de Hainault to step aside and put you in the game in his place. We hope that’s true because we don’t want to go to war against Ferrara at the same time we’re dealing with Tucker.”

Nice to know my crazy ass theories aren’t quite so crazy, after all. “That means I’m actually playing for Ferrara.”

“And me.”

I study the floor for a moment before lifting my gaze to Cesare De Luca. “You
know
the leverage Tucker has on me. If he even catches a hint I know the score or suspects I’ve turned against the house, he won’t think twice. He’ll act. I can’t take that risk.”

Cesare studies me while he taps the armrest with his fingers. “What if we found a way to make sure your mother was safe? That she was no longer under Tucker’s protection?”

Putting Tucker’s name together with
protection
makes me want to throw up. Then again, accepting Cesare’s offer would shift responsibility for my mother’s safety from Tucker Voss to the De Luca syndicate. Frying pan, meet fire.

I edge closer to the old man. “I didn’t start this war, but if anything happens to my mother—
anything
—I’ll finish it, and then I’ll hold you personally accountable.”

Another man might have taken offense at my threat. Cesare merely steeples his fingers. “Family is everything to me. It’s the same for you. That’s why you have my respect.” He grants me an easy smile, as if we’re friends catching up on old times, and I honestly have a choice in the matter. “Do this for the syndicate and you have my word that nothing will happen to your mother.”

“What if I stick with the devil I know?”

Marco grasps my shoulder. “That’s what Tucker is counting on. He’s playing you.”

Like everyone else, it seems.

I’m about ready to tell Cesare De Luca and his syndicate where they can go when the old man rises to his feet. “What if we sweetened the deal?”

My throat closes as I imagine what Tucker will do to my mother when he finds out Cesare is moving against him. “Even you don’t have enough money to force me to abandon my mother.”

“Not money,” Cesare says quietly. “We would not insult you in that way. I always thought you wanted to become a made man? Or did I get that wrong?”

“You’re serious?”

“Good things come to those who wait.” Marco grins. “Hey, at least they did away with the saint in the ceremony.”

“But not the blood, I’m guessing?”

Cesare shrugs. “A man of honor knows there are times when blood must be spilled for the good of the family. Some things will never change.”

Memories I’ve stuffed so far down inside me, they should have been buried forever burrow to the surface. My mother’s sweet face burns in my mind when I remember how she slumped in her wheelchair while Tucker Voss stood with his fat hand on her shoulder. She’d suffered a massive stroke. I’d made sure she had the best of care, but it wasn’t enough to put her beyond the reach of a bastard like Tucker Voss. That was five years ago and after Ferrara had me blackballed. Without the power of the syndicate at my back, Tucker made me his bitch by threatening the only family I had left.

I stare at Cesare De Luca. “You’ve made promises before.”

“Things are different now.”