Perilous Curves Collection (BBW Romance) (27 page)

"Stay."

The air like acid in my lungs, I watch him walk across the room and confer in whispers with the man who took my purse. Masters dismisses the man and returns to stand in front of me again, thick arms folded across his broad chest.

Sensing it just might be time to beg, I open my mouth.

"Don't." He motions for me to stand.

Without thinking, I obey, only to pull back when Masters cups both sides of my face and steps all the way into my space. He won't let me retreat. His grip tightens and he takes another step closer until his torso presses into my full breasts and rounded stomach. His body heat permeates the silk suit and the thin georgette of my clothing until I feel like my flesh will melt if he holds me another second.

His mouth waits a hair's width from mine and then he speaks. "I believe you, Queenie, but girls like Rose die every day."

"Bastard!" He doesn't know Rose or what she's been through in life, the things she has witnessed. Unthinking, I raise my hand. My open palm lands hard against his angular jaw.

Masters catches me by the wrist before I can form a fist and strike again. Spinning me, he grabs my other arm and pins them across my stomach. A hard yank on my wrists and I find my backside cinched tightly to him. Hot tears splash against my cheeks and chest as I struggle in his embrace.

His beard brushes against my shoulder, paralyzing me. Lips whisper against my neck. As if tendering my temporary surrender, my head rolls back. Masters nuzzles the skin below my ear, his warm breath falling hypnotically against my neck. Trapped in his arms, I smell a warm, sensuous mix of citrus and cinnamon emanating from his body and the tension inside me eases another degree.

"Yes, I'm a bastard." He kisses where his lips nuzzled my skin and then again a little higher. "But you'll take my help and thank me."

My mind numb, I look around the room with its trappings of wealth and success and think of the coin. It is his, not something given to him by a cherished or hated relative. So he has at least a decade on me of playing this game and has done so at levels I can't begin to understand. Aware of how painfully sexy he is, he is not above using his body as a weapon against me.

I comprehend that his actions are all a show, but I can't stop myself from falling deep into his trap. The intimacy produces his intended effect. Starting with a reflexive tightening of my labia, a contraction rolls through my pussy, its outward vibrations so strong they momentarily fragment my spine and I am only standing because Masters holds me upright.

"You can run your errand." Slowly stepping back, he gives me time to recover my legs before he lets go. "But you will return."

"Of course." I agree too fast, my mind already running through a dozen ways I can ensure I will never see him again. "Thank you, Mr. Masters."

"Luke," he tells me. His palm against my back, he propels me toward the office door. Stopping right before we reach it, he steps in front of me. One hand on the knob, he curls the other along my chin and leans in. "We'll discuss my compensation upon your return."

His lips, flushed and warm, flatten against mine before his tongue expertly draws me into the kiss with teasing licks along the seam of my mouth. Certain I will collapse unless I have something to hold onto, I reach for the lapels of his jacket. His tongue pushes deeper and he wraps a hand around my head to control the kiss. My torso curves backwards. Standing only on my toes, I flex my hips until my mound pushes against his groin.

Another contraction rolls through me and I find that I can no longer breathe.

I want to hate myself for being so weak, but I can't. I have been on the run for six years, working and moving constantly, the only male in my life my baby brother. For twenty years before that, I remained under the watchful eye of my father. This isn't quite my first kiss, but it is pretty damn close and I am certain I will never experience another like it.

Luke steps back and opens the door. His gaze narrow and on me, he pivots on one heel to reveal just how he has secured my return.

In front of me, sitting on a couch, Tommy waits handcuffed and gagged.

********************

"Remove those immediately!" I move across the room as fast as my fat legs can carry me. With his lean muscular body, Masters makes it to the couch several strides before I do. I reach for the gag anyway and he catches my hand.

He nods at the man standing guard over Tommy. "Let him talk."

"The cuffs, too." I struggle to free my hand from Masters' tight grip. "You have no right -- this is kidnapping!"

Continuing to wedge his body between me and Tommy, Masters wraps an arm around my waist and glares down at me. "No, beautiful, it's a conspiracy."

Conspiracy.

That one word shuts me up fast. Masters is right -- Tommy can be charged with conspiracy. If I don't cooperate, not only will Rose die, but Tommy could go to prison.

My legs threatening to fold, I stop fighting. Masters keeps his grip firm as if I might be faking my capitulation. Knowing that I won't be free until he releases me, I can't hold back the angry, helpless tear that rolls down my cheek. Breaking left, it lands on my bottom lip. I suck it in. The salt bites my tongue and my bottom lip begins to quiver. Only then does Masters let go.

The removal of his hand triggers more of my tears and he pulls the linen handkerchief from his front breast pocket. His big frame blocking Tommy's view, Masters dabs at my cheek. The press of the fabric is soft against my skin and his knuckles gently graze my lips. The gesture is intimate, as if we are long-time lovers instead of strangers.

Finished erasing the evidence of how helpless I have become, he steps aside.

"Key." Masters holds his hand out to the guard while I remove Tommy's gag.

He gives me the key, only to take it back a second later because my hands are shaking too much. Bending to reach the cuffs, he stares Tommy down and unlocks them. "I'm sure you want to help Rose as much as Marie does."

Tommy looks at me, rubbing his wrists and ignoring both men.

I sink onto the couch. This close, I can see that there is swelling around his eye and bruises on his arms. I shoot an accusing looks at Masters. "He needs ice."

Masters subtly gestures and the guard scurries across the room to return a minute later with an ice pack.

I touch the pack to Tommy's cheek. When he winces, my chest constricts painfully in response. It kills me that he is hurt. He has received more than enough black eyes and bruises at the hands of our father to last him a lifetime. We both have.

I meet his gaze and silently try to tell him how sorry I am and that I will fix everything. The look in his eyes tell me it is not my fault, but he is twenty and doesn't know how wrong he is. I have let him and Rose down tonight. I got too soft to play the game. I didn't keep better track of Rose and the people she hangs around with. I could have done a dozen things to stop the relentless march to this point in time.

"Clock's ticking, Marie."

My head jerks up and I glare at Masters. "I'm aware."

More than aware, I am over-the-fucking-top aware of how many seconds and minutes closer I am to failing Rose. Even so, I can't pull myself away from Tommy. It's not right to pick favorites, but Tommy is mine. Rose was always a daddy's girl, untouched by Troy's fists or belt. Of course, she never said no to his cons, never judged him and she forgave our father every last bruise he left on Tommy's flesh and mine.

Time has done little to change her. Even so, I want her safe -- but I want Tommy safer.

Reaching up, my baby brother takes quiet command of the ice pack. "I'll be okay. Do what you have to."

Masters extends his hand, his gaze locked down and as cold as the ice pressed against my brother's cheek.

"Time for you to receive your instructions."

********************

An hour later, Solandro Ortiz has one meaty hand wrapped around my throat and is starting to squeeze.

"You ditched my guy."

I try to swallow, but he holds me too tightly. I force just enough air through my throat to reason with Ortiz. "You didn't tell me I had a tail."

His grip relaxes marginally. I inhale, the air rushing in so fast it makes me dizzy.

"You have my sister," I continue. "A tail would have drawn attention in the casino."

I had, in fact, noticed the man following me and evaded him for just that reason. Wearing a brown wig and raincoat to the earlier meeting, I then detoured through a familiar restaurant and stashed my disguise behind a dumpster in the alley. I had intended to retrieve both before returning, but getting collared by Masters had left me with too little time.

Now, that little bit of subterfuge is all that stands between me and Solandro realizing I have a new boss.

Thinking about the man who now holds my future in his hands, my stomach and heart flip at the same time. I take another breath in and remind myself that I don't have the luxury of thinking about Masters. I have to focus on Solandro and convince him that I wasn't burned at the casino.

I lightly curl one hand around Solandro's wrist and the thick fingers still attached to my throat. "The money is in my purse."

He jerks the bag from my shoulder. Yanking me with him, he walks over to a folding table and dumps the contents onto it. Seeing my cell phone spill out, my stomach somersaults a few more times. I don't know how, but Masters is using the phone to track me in a way that didn't set off the wand Solandro ran over my clothes and purse when I first entered the warehouse.

"Nice." He thumbs through the money a second time and raises a brow at me. "Eight grand?"

"Seven-point-six."

He tosses the money at one of the three men he brought with him then returns his attention to my bag.

"Hand over the lenses."

I comply while Solandro takes my pocketbook from the pile. He checks through it for any additional money, leaving the ten dollar bill he finds. His fingers squeeze and prod the case for anything else that might be hidden. He repeats the act with my empty purse.

I do my best to look bored when Solandro grabs the cell phone. Just as he did during our last meeting, he flips through my address list then looks at my call history and for new text messages.

"When did you stop playing?"

I gave him the time Luke finally released me from the casino. "Two."

Sneering, he glares at me. "Seven G and you played until two?"

"Seven-point-six." I shrug. "You told me to keep it low key. I lost hands I would have won."

He is slow to accept my excuse. His gaze passes over me with a laboring scrutiny. Everything is noted -- the blonde hair, the smoky make-up, the georgette that has gone limp and clings to my body, the strappy gold sandals. He finishes with a swipe of his hand across his mouth then tosses the purse at me.

His hand flaps at the table. "Take your shit and go. I'll call you when I'm ready again."

I slowly move to comply. A week has passed since he let me talk to Rose. I cannot be sure she is still alive. "Can I see--"

"No." Walking away, Solandro stops and turns back. Pulling a switch blade from his pocket, he clicks it open and points the blade at me. "You miss my call -- I slice Rose ass to mouth then find you and Tommy."

I lift my chin, letting him know I understand the threat and take it seriously. Sweeping everything into my purse, I watch Solandro and his men exit the building. They turn the lights off, leaving me to grope my way through the dark and out onto an empty parking lot.

Emerging from the building, I want to immediately scan the area for Solandro or one of Masters' team. I force myself not to. The little ploy with turning the lights off was to buy Solandro time in leaving. And Masters assured me his team would make sure Solandro's crew doesn’t follow me. I am to leave the rendezvous point and head for a restaurant ten blocks away. If no one from Masters' team approaches me there, I have instructions to head to another casino a few more blocks beyond the restaurant and wait until someone does approach me.

Instructions and assurances aside, old habits die hard. I take as circuitous a route as possible to the first meeting point, approaching the restaurant from the opposite direction.

At a few minutes before seven a.m., only staff and two other customers fill the crappy little diner. I pick a booth along the south wall, next to the drive. Beyond the drive, another building pushes up from the concrete, ensuring I only have to keep an eye on the street in front of the diner and the buildings beyond that.

"You like it straight, right?" Without my asking, the waitress tips a coffee cup over and starts pouring.

I don't drink coffee, but I smile at her anyway. "Got me pegged."

As she pours, I note her name is Tina, she doesn't wear a wedding ring, she has rhinestones on her manicured nails and a run in her pantyhose. As I catalog Tina and her life, my stomach reminds me with a gurgle that I haven't eaten in sixteen hours. "I'll take a slice of pumpkin pie."

"Sure thing." She throws me a wink designed to increase the size of her tip but the gesture is too devoid of sincerity have any chance of working. She heads to the counter to collect my pie. Her skinny hips bounce left and right like she's playing pinball and has made it to the final round of the world championships.