Truth in Pieces

by RC Boldt

  I rattle off the address for Women’s Fit and sit back, resting a hand on the door handle. “If you don’t want to give me a ride, it’s fine. I’m sure I can—”

  He turns his head to face the front and offers another grunt before muttering, “Boss won’t be happy ’bout this.” But I notice he plugs the gym’s address in the GPS and pulls out of the parking lot.

  With an inward sigh, I relax a fraction and slide out my change of clothes, phone, and gym key fob, laying them on my lap. Thankfully, I can scan the fob for a bottled water they’ll tack on to my monthly charge since I forgot to bring one.

  Silence engulfs the interior of the vehicle, and a tinge of remorse edges its way in.

  “I’m not normally a pushy person.” Goliath says nothing. “I wasn’t trying to be rude, but I just want to lock myself in one of the rooms and work out.”

  He grunts. I suppose that’s as close as I’ll get to an “I understand” from this man.

  As soon as he parks in a spot near the gym entrance, he exits and circles to hold the door for me with a proffered hand.

  It’s a bit unnerving to be escorted by a man the size of Goliath, but I shove aside the self-consciousness.

  Once I’m fobbed in, I jot down my name beneath the room sign-in. I accept a bottle of water from the front desk attendant who appears like she might wet herself at any moment, her eyes darting past me to Goliath every two point seven seconds. Turning to face him, I say, “I’ll be in room eleven, if you need me.”

  Another grunt. When he pulls out his phone, I instantly panic. “Please. Please…don’t tell him right away. I just need some time to myself. Please.” I know I’m begging, but I desperately need this.

  He slides his sunglasses up to rest on his head and stares down at me. I’m startled by what appears to be sympathy swimming in the depths.

  “Go do your thing.” He tucks the phone back in his pocket.

  “Thank you,” I breathe out. Backing away, I offer a hesitant smile. “Thank you. Really.”

  He grunts and lowers his sunglasses, masking his eyes once again.

  Spinning around, I race to the locker room to change. The instant I step inside the room I reserved and shut the door behind me, I’m able to draw in the first easy breath I’ve taken all day.

  Leaving only the dim lights in the outskirts of the room on, I adjust the thermostat in the room and set it warmer than usual, but it’s my preference.

  Clad in a pair of shorts and a sports bra with bare feet, I set my water beside the wall where I’ve piled my heels, purse, and my folded clothes. Hooking up my new cell phone—the one Goliath delivered to me along with a new laptop before I’d gone to bed last night—I access my favorite playlist, and it instantly pours through the speakers in the room.

  Forcing myself to clear my mind of stressful thoughts, I clean the pole first, like usual, before warming up. I find it poetic that the first song on my playlist is “You Don’t Own Me” by Grace. This song may end up on repeat if Nico’s heavy-handedness with my life goes too far.

  I make it through my warm-up, but something feels off. Drawing to a stop, I stare at myself in the mirrored wall and run a hand through my hair, my bangs falling back into place. When “Buttons” by The Pussycat Dolls cues up, it serves as a kickstart for me.

  This is exactly what I need. To escape from reality for the briefest moment. To pretend I’m someone desirable and sexy enough. That I’m dancing not only for me but for the men who can look but never, ever touch. My mind never focuses on those imaginary faces observing me. I never have a specific person in mind when I dance.

  Until now.

  Brown eyes watch me move; his easy, sprawled form in the plush chair makes me think he’d be at ease watching me for hours on end.

  No. A tiny recess of my brain revolts. Not him.

  But it does no good. He’s front and foremost in my mind. His fingers flex on the armrests of the chair as though he’s fighting the urge to reach out and skim his palms along my skin.

  Bracing my body against the pole, I arch, running my ass along the metal, my limbs moving on their own accord as I give myself over to the power of this: sensuality, empowerment, and pride.

  The weight of his gaze drifts over me in a sensual caress, holding the promise that once I’m done, he’ll touch me in a way I’ve only imagined.

  My focus on my reflection in the mirror goes hazy as I lose myself to the tempo and concentrate on the music. The way my body moves and the strength I possess as I climb and hold my poses fill me with satisfaction and a sense of achievement. He’ll shift in his seat to alleviate the pressure of his arousal, his hard cock pressing insistently against the fabric of his suit pants.

  After I transition from the poses, I drop into a Juliet Spin. The warm temperature of the room has a sheen of perspiration rising on my skin, but my peaked nipples are a result of my traitorous mind imagining Nico watching me. A powerful, dangerous man observing me while holding himself at bay.

  The beginning notes of The Weeknd’s “Earned It” begin to play, and it’s the moment I register someone’s presence inside the room. Even though my breath hitches in my throat and a tiny thread of self-consciousness threatens to break through, I tamp it down and do my best to ignore him.

  This is my time. After all, he’s the one who needs me. Perhaps he could use a reminder that he doesn’t hold all the power.

  I change positions to a Cross Ankle Release, body upside down, my back arched while I grip the pole behind me. The weight of his eyes leaves searing heat spiraling to my core. My nipples harden to stiff points beneath the fabric of my sports bra even as I will my body to resist reacting to him. Lowering myself to my bare feet, I finish and release my grip on the metal pole.

  A sheen of sweat covers my upper chest, and I hold Nico’s gaze while apprehension attempts to jostle its way to the forefront.

  He stands beside my belongings. I don’t understand why his mere presence is so utterly unsettling, but it is.

  Without breaking eye contact, he reaches down to grab my bottled water. Twisting the cap, he offers it to me.

  But to get it, I must go to him.

  This is when it dawns on me what’s so different about him, and perhaps, what has me teetering off-balance.

  He’s dressed far differently than before, and it’s… Well, hell. The sight of him in a pair of gray sweatpants riding low on his hips and a plain white T-shirt molding to his broad chest causes unwanted sensations to unfurl inside me.

  Lust.

  Attraction.

  Need.

  He looks like he rushed here from his own workout. His knuckles are taped and sweat dampens the fabric that stretches between those firm pectorals. Resentfully, I can’t help but notice he fills out his clothing nicely.

  It’s too bad he’s the man he is, leading a faction of criminals.

  “Already breakin’ the rules.” He cocks his head to the side, brown eyes narrowing on me. “Smart woman like you knows better.” Each word sounds as if he’s grinding them out from between clenched teeth. “Rafe fuckin’ knew better.”

  “Yeah, well…” My breaths are choppy, causing my words to sound in short, staccato bursts. “I told you I needed to work out. You didn’t listen.” Raising my chin a notch higher, I add, “I happen to be grateful he brought me here.”

  Avoiding his eyes, I snag the water from his hand and take a long drink, ignoring the droplets of condensation that land on my upper chest. Maybe he’ll grow tired of standing here, haunting the room with his anger.

  My eyes drop to the front of his sweatpants by their own accord only to stutter over the bulge beneath the fabric of his sweatpants.

  “Time to go.”

  It takes a moment to register his words and a second longer before I snap my eyes up to his. Oh, God. I was ogling him. If the ground could open up right this minute and swallow me whole, I’d welcome it.

  Glancing down at my sloppy outfit in question, I can’t resist challenging him. �
��I suppose it won’t do to be seen in public with me looking like this, will it?”

  His eyes never stray from mine as he takes a step closer, eliminating the distance between us, and I force myself to remain where I am. His eyes drift over my body, lingering on my breasts for a beat, and I inwardly cuss at the sports bra for not having thicker padding to mask my beaded nipples.

  “You think I got a problem with the way you look right now?” Something unidentifiable glitters in his eyes and his voice drops, growing huskier. “Ain’t no man in his right mind gonna have a problem with you lookin’ like this.”

  Tension crackles in the air between us, and the sensation that the room has grown exponentially smaller bombards me.

  “One thing I do got a problem with”—his tone takes on a steely edge—“is you puttin’ yourself at risk. No more stops back here unless I know about it. I need you safe and in one piece.”

  God, he’s so damn rude and bossy. But at least he’s watching out for my safety...even if it is for his own purpose.

  I hold his gaze before offering a curt nod.

  Nico tips his head, gesturing to the doorway. “Let’s go.”

  11

  Nico

  Motherfucker. Professor Olivia Wright is making me lose my goddamn mind.

  This sentiment repeats on a loop in my brain as I follow her out of the gym.

  I was pissed as hell when Rafe told me they made an unplanned stop—and he hadn’t fucking run it by me first.

  I’d stopped my own workout and jumped in my car to come here. Storming into the gym, I was ready to lay into her. She’s under my protection, and I need to know where she is at all times. She’s my pawn, and if I don’t have her, I’ll lose this fucking game and Johanna Santilla will continue her reign.

  The instant I stepped inside the room where Olivia was dancing, I was sucker punched in the gut. Tiny shorts that barely covered her curvy ass had my dick hardening within seconds. But it was her body moving sensually, perfectly in tune with the music, as though she was one with each chord and line of lyrics that sent my hard-on into overdrive.

  I didn’t bother to remove the tape from my knuckles on the ride here, and now I sure as shit won’t need to. I’ll be back in the gym, punching that damn bag once we’re back at the house. Fuck knows I’ll be trying to burn off this goddamn need she’s cursed me with.

  If she were any other woman, I’d shove her against the wall of this damn room. I’d let her feel how hard she’s made my cock instead of just letting her steal glances at it. And I sure as shit would tug that sports bra down to taste those nipples that were trying to poke their way through the fabric.

  But I fucking can’t. Everything about her is wrong. She may be telling the truth about not knowing her real parents—that remains to be seen—but the facts still stand.

  No matter how much she draws me in, no matter how much I get off on her stubbornness, she’s a means to an end.

  She comes from a line of liars, and her mother is the queen of murder and lies.

  12

  Olivia

  WEDNESDAY NIGHT

  The dress I’m expected to wear tonight is exquisite and outrageously expensive. Undoubtedly, wearing it will cause me the same amount of anxiety as knowing I’ll be at a gala, deceiving everyone—including Chancellor Boman and Dean Harrod—about my fake relationship with Nico Alcanzar.

  “All set.” This comes from the hair and makeup artist who’d arrived two hours ago.

  Daniel chatted nonstop while doing his best to make me presentable. He’d cooed over the strapless red Oscar de la Renta gown, which had been hung in the walk-in closet. Accompanying it was a matching clutch and a pair of glittery silver Jimmy Choo wedge sandals.

  The man steps back to survey his handiwork and lets out a wistful sigh. “Darling, you are stunning!”

  I rise from the chair in the bathrobe and thank him. After he assists me in easing the dress over me to ensure I’m not mussed in any way, he zips the back and bustles around the flowing hemline, murmuring, “Just gorgeous.”

  Smoothing a hand down the front of my dress, I pause over my stomach, attempting to quell the sensation of swarming butterflies. With the thigh-high slit in the fabric, I’m not used to wearing anything quite so…feminine and sexy in the presence of men like the dean and chancellor.

  I turn my eyes to Daniel as nervousness ekes from my pores. “You think so?”

  “I know so.”

  The deep, gravelly voice that answers comes from the doorway of my bedroom. My head whips around, and I bite back a gasp at the sight of Nico in a perfectly tailored tuxedo. For a split second, I wonder what it would be like to get dressed up like this and have a handsome man take me out on the town.

  A man who isn’t a drug lord.

  A man who wouldn’t use an innocent woman as his pawn.

  “You’ve outdone yourself, Daniel.” Nico ventures inside the room, and Daniel busies himself by packing up his supplies.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  My breath catches in my throat the closer Nico gets, and I force myself not to fidget beneath his imposing stare. Once he stops in front of me, I muster bravado and wave a hand, gesturing at myself. “Do I pass inspection?”

  He tips his head to the side, inspecting me carefully before shaking his head. “Nah. Hate to say it, but you’re missin’ somethin’.”

  Daniel’s head snaps up in alarm and he freezes in place, hands clenching the handles of his kits filled with makeup and hair supplies. “Sir?”

  Nico doesn’t break eye contact with me as he waves off Daniel. “You’re all good. You can go.”

  “O-okay.” Daniel hauls ass from the bedroom, leaving Nico and me ensconced in silence.

  I glance down at myself in confusion. “I’m dressed in what you gave me to wear—Ohhhh…” I trail off when he brings a hand from his pocket to reveal a gorgeous diamond necklace. My eyes flick up to his, the hesitance obvious in my voice. “I don’t know if I should wear that.”

  The edges of his lips twitch. “Good thing I know you should.”

  I heave out a sigh. Of course, it always comes down to his arrogance and high-handedness. He steps behind me to fasten the necklace around my throat, and I tense, his body heat emanating so intensely. Calloused fingertips graze the back of my neck, and I can’t suppress my sharp intake of breath at his touch.

  “Gotta get used to my touch,” he murmurs while fastening the necklace.

  Stepping around to face me, he trails a finger along the ends of my hair that graze my jaw. Eyes gleaming with banked heat lock with mine. “Gotta sell that we’re together.”

  I stand stock-still while he dips his head and presses his lips to the top of my bare shoulder. My mouth parts before I force myself to snap it closed, willing my breathing to even out. What is it about this man that has my body rioting? He’s a cartel leader, for Christ’s sake.

  “I have something to tell you.” My words come out rushed, and it’s part relief, part dismay that pummels me once he steps back.

  Features wary, brows drawn tight, he lifts his chin. “What’s that?”

  “The chancellor at my university wanted me to attend this gala with the dean of my department. I told him I would be coming with my…boyfriend.”

  Brown eyes study me, something indecipherable churning in the depths. “That so?”

  “He asked your last name, and I gave it to him.”

  “Hm. Boman and Harrod, huh?” he murmurs, and I frown in surprise that he knows their names. Then I recall exactly who I’m dealing with.

  This man seems to know far more than I could ever anticipate.

  I simply nod in response.

  The smirk that forms on his lips is devious, sending a rush of wariness rocketing through me. “Tonight oughta be fun, Professor.” Then the man offers me an upturned palm in a gallant manner I would’ve never expected.

  Tentatively, I place my hand in his, and he brings it to his lips to press a kiss to the top. Shivers
skitter along the length of my spine, and I work hard to stifle my reaction to his touch. The faint crinkling at the edges of his eyes proves I failed at doing so.

  “Time to show off my woman.”

  He links his fingers with mine, guiding me from the house to where the car awaits. Nico doesn’t release my hand until we’re inside the vehicle with Goliath behind the wheel.

  A sharp stab of uneasiness lances through me once he draws away. Because somehow, the warmth from his palm, the way his fingers threaded through mine, felt intimate. It felt real.

  And this is anything but real.

  13

  Nico

  What the fuck is wrong with me? I’m suddenly into hand-holding? Jesus.

  I pull out my cell phone to check for updates, attempting to ignore my reaction to the woman beside me. To resist leaning in closer, like her body is a magnetic force all its own.

  Her punishing grip on her small purse has me wondering if she’ll leave indentations in the damn thing.

  “You nervous?”

  When she jumps, I huff out a breath of amusement. Turning those blue-green eyes on me, she studies me for a beat. “Just wondering how the hell we’re going to sell this.”

  “Just pretend I’m the kinda guy you normally date.”

  The derisive sound spilling from her red lips has my eyes dropping to her mouth. Immediately, an image flashes in my mind of those lips wrapped around my dick, leaving behind traces of her lipstick.

  Fuck.

  “That would mean imagining assholes who don’t know the first thing about—” Her mouth snaps shut abruptly, but there’s no way in hell I’m letting her get away without finishing that response.

  “’Bout what, Professor?”

  A flush rises on her cheeks and her upper chest, and I get the distinct impression she hadn’t meant to say that aloud.

  She shakes her head and turns to face the window with a mumbled, “Not important.”