“It’s not like he’ll ever find out it was you,” Riley begged.
“Yeah, okay,” Wendell agreed, eying Riley’s curves under her loose overalls. “Only because I think its a damn good idea to keep your identity out of this particular guy’s hands.”
They put the phone on speaker after dialling. Riley waited breathlessly, hoping it would go to voicemail. It didn’t. Soloman Hart picked up on the third ring, his deep measured voice answering as though he had been expecting the call.
“This is Riley Bancroft,” Wendell said, looking at Riley as he spoke. “I was told you wanted to speak with me, Mr. Hart.”
There was a long pause before Soloman’s deep drawling voice answered. “Yes, thank you for getting in touch. Did your… mechanic tell you my reason for visiting?”
“Yeah, she did,” Wendell assured him. “As she told you, man, we haven’t seen your ride in the shop and we’ll definitely be in touch if the Regera comes through here. Somethingone of a kind like that, it’ll stand out around here.”
“Yes, that would be why I made the visit myself. Do me a favour and ask around your circles… Riley? I want that car back,” Soloman said coldly.
Riley’s heart pounded against her ribcage. She knew she wasn’t imagining the way he paused before he said her name. Why did it feel as though he was toying with Wendell? Fuck, did he know the woman he spoke with in the early morning hours was Riley herself? If he did, then he’d found out way faster than she thought possible. Meaning his reach went even deeper than she had previously expected. No, she needed to believe he had no idea. That he didn't care enough to find out.
“Of course,” Wendell reassured him, watching Riley’s face with a frown.
“I want something else,” Soloman continued, his voice taking on a definite edge. “The name of that woman mechanic I met last night. She refused to give me one when asked.”
Riley’s eyes flew to Wendell's. He put a reassuring hand on her arm and gave Soloman the name that they’d talked about before the call. “Her name’s Katie Pullman,” he said with a forced chuckle. “Not sure why she refused to say. She’s usually a pretty big flirt. We have trouble keeping her away from the clients. You must’ve spooked her.”
Riley held her breath while they waited for Soloman’s response. They’d given him Wendell’s sisters name. A quick check using resources that he undoubtedly had access to would quickly uncover the lie. Luckily, Katie was travelling for work and would never know her name was used in vain. Though she was a giant flirt and did tend to cause havoc in the shop when she deigned to saunter through with her mini skirts and lacquered nails. She also happened to be Riley’s best friend.
Riley hoped that telling Soloman the woman he met was a flirt would put him off wanting anything more to do with her. Perhaps it was a mild attraction and he would lose interest and move on to greener pastures if he thought she was easy. Dude looked like he enjoyed a challenge. She crossed her fingers and prayed he was already moving on.
“Must’ve,” he finally agreed, after a moment of thought. “I appreciate your help with my problem, Riley. Let me know what you hear.”
“Will do,” Wendell agreed and hung up.
Riley sighed in relief and leaned back against the window of her office, closing her eyes. “Thank god that’s done. Hopefully that’s the last we hear from him.”
Wendell put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it affectionately. She looked up at him and into two very concerned blue eyes. “Time to think of a plan, Riles. Because that man didn’t believe a word I said.”
***
Soloman leaned back in his chair and placed his phone carefully on the desk. He cracked his knuckles and turned to look out across the landscaped yard. He should have been extremely angry, but satisfaction was the only emotion he could conjure. Riley Bancroft just made a very big mistake in lying to him. By playing dirty with him she was giving him the opening he needed to take what he wanted.
For now, he would play her games. Give her a chance to get to know him better and come to him willingly. Eventually, she would give him what he wanted. If she continued to resist him, then he would crush her games and burn her world until she had no more choices. He hadn’t become one of the most feared men in the city for no reason. She would learn.
He looked down at the file his information guy had put together two hours after Roman had contacted him. It contained everything he needed on Riley Bancroft. He didn’t need to open it to remember the contents. He did pull the pictures out. One was her driver’s license and the other was her passport. Both resembled her, but neither did justice to the gorgeous, vibrant creature he’d encountered in the garage.
He looked down at the pictures and then closed his eyes, conjuring her image and the vanilla scent combined with motor oil that he’d smelled on her when he’d stepped up to her. He’d been nearly overwhelmed by the urge to take a fistful of her ponytail, jerk her into his chest and take those plush lips in a hard kiss. Fuck, they were so plump, they begged to be crushed beneath his own thinner, harder lips. She had the type of mouth that made men everywhere picture a dick sliding between the red, lush pillowy softness and into the moist depths of her mouth. It made him want to put his fist through a wall, or a dude’s face, and lock her up where no one could see her.
Soon. He would bring her home and show her who she belonged to. For now, he would play the wooing game and lure her into his trap.
Though he’d memorized the words, he flipped open the file anyway. Glancing down at her information, he reread each word in an attempt to soothe the impatient beast rearing up inside him with the need to go find Riley Bancroft. First, he would spank her for lying to him, then fuck her into submission.
She was thirty years old. The only child of Cilia and Alan Bancroft. Alan Bancroft had passed away two years earlier from a sudden heart attack, leaving his extremely lucrative repair and detail shop to his daughter, Riley Anne Bancroft. Further digging had revealed that the garage was also a chop shop. A fact Soloman had, of course, already known.
The dating and medical information had caused Soloman’s blood to boil, forcing him to examine closely what exactly it was he wanted with this girl he had spent barely five minutes with. She was on birth control and went to the clinic for regular blood testing, and yearly pelvic exams, which suggested she was sexually active. The information guy had also dug up a dating profile. Though there seemed to be no one serious in the picture, she dated semi-frequently and had a thing for clean-cut jocks. That was about to change.
The mother, Cilia Bancroft, was a high-functioning autistic that lived on her own and had a gambling problem. She worked as an accountant to the rich and was currently blacklisted from every casino and poker game in town thanks to her grown up daughter. Very interesting. This piece of information would come in very handy considering he owned several of the places Cilia was currently not allowed to step foot in. Perhaps it was time to make Mrs. Bancroft’s acquaintance.
CHAPTER THREE
Riley was exhausted. It had been a ridiculously long day and all she wanted to do was take a hot bath, have a cup of chamomile honey tea and fall into bed. Engaging the locks on her ’71 Triumph Spitfire, she clutched her pepper spray and ran up the stairs of her outdoor apartment building to her third-floor condo. She let herself in, disarmed the alarm and dumped her purse and spray into the nearest chair. It was her favourite ‘holding shit’ instead of actual sitting on armchair. She had one in her bedroom too for clothes that weren’t dirty enough to go in the laundry, but not clean enough to go back in the closet. She flipped the light switch on the wall between her living room and her kitchen.
“Holy shit!” she gasped, staring in surprise and dismay at a massive flower arrangement on her countertop. It was a huge assortment of tiger lilies, red, yellow and orange gerberas, and yellow daisies surrounded by greenery. She’d never seen anything like it.
Turning on her heel, Riley quickly relocked the door and set the alarm again. Then she
shook her head and swore again, realizing that whoever put the flowers on her counter would have gotten through all of her security anyway.
“Fuck!” she yelled, covering her mouth with one hand.
She grabbed blindly for the pepper spray in case the intruder was still in her condo. Her fingers closed over the can and she held it tightly against her chest and glared at the flowers like they were going to eat her. Then, realizing she had no choice, she reached out and snatched the card from the prong sticking out of the top.
“Please, please, please be from Cilia,” she begged out loud, knowing she was asking for the moon. Cilia didn’t even give birthday or Christmas presents, let alone random flower arrangements that must have cost a fortune. But Cilia was one of the few people with a key to her place and the code to her alarm system.
The card was handwritten:
Call me.
S
She automatically flipped the card over and saw a phone number on the back. She knew exactly who it was from. Riley stared at it for a full five minutes, her heart thumping in fear and anticipation. Would she be crazy to call the number? Would she be crazy not to? One did not exactly ignore a summons from Soloman Hart. She suspected she knew why he wanted to talk to her and she wasn’t too eager to have this conversation. If he found her place then he’d found out who she was. After several more minutes of debate, she picked up her iPhone and punched in the number. It wasn’t the same one that they’d used at the shop. Was this his personal cell number?
He answered on the first ring.
“Hello, Riley.” His deep, rich voice sent a shiver coursing through her body.
“Soloman,” she said coldly.
“You received my flowers.”
“Obviously,” she said through gritted teeth, glancing sideways at the massive arrangement. “You have a thing for breaking into places uninvited.”
He chuckled, but there was little warmth in his voice when he said, “You lied to me, Riley Bancroft. Do you know what happened to the last person that lied to me?”
“No,” she whispered, her eyes glued to the bright flowers. She was guessing they hadn’t received an expensive gift.
“His family will not have the closure they seek, but I won’t go into details since I plan on us spending time together in the future. I don't want you to become too afraid of me. I will tell you that you have tread on my patience in a way I don’t allow in others,” his voice was quiet, chilling. “I’m warning you not to lie to me again. Do you understand, Riley?”
She could feel the adrenaline spiking through her as he spoke, even though she wasn’t in immediate danger. She forced herself to breath as evenly as possibly so she wouldn’t pass out. Reaching out, she took hold of the edge of her couch and pulled herself down until she was sitting. Carefully, she set the can of pepper spray between her legs. She knew neither he nor one of his goons would be in her apartment at the moment. Not his style.
“Yes,” she gasped into the phone. “I understand.”
“Good,” he said. “I want you to understand the rules, Riley, so you don’t get hurt.”
Anger flared within her chest. Fuck him and his rules! She didn’t plan on getting any closer to this terrifying mafia asshole. Instead, she said in a tight voice, “Fine, thank you for enlightening me. And thank you for the flowers. Th-they’re beautiful.”
It nearly choked her to thank him for the flowers, but she’d lived and worked in the criminal world long enough to know how things went with these bosses. Even when they did horrifying things, you thanked them so they didn't do something even worse. God, maybe she should sell the shop, move out of town and go legit. The shop had moved some seriously decent income in its time and for the most part she and her dad had managed to stay out of trouble. The shop had also allowed her to have fun with her obsessions: racing and gaming. She could easily game without the shop, but not so much the races. Still, it wasn’t worth her life.
“Have dinner with me Friday night.”
“What?” she asked incredulously. She couldn’t have heard him right.
“I’m asking you out to dinner,” he pressed.
Riley covered her face with her hand and thought hard about his request. More of a command actually. Shit. What should she do? Should she have seen this coming? The man was a fucking predator. She’d felt it in the garage. The way he looked at her and touched her. Everything about him was terrifying. There was no way she could handle a man like him. But did she have a choice? There was only one way to find out.
“I… I don’t think so. No,” she said, making her voice as strong as she could. She waited breathlessly for his reply, praying he would just accept her answer, like the guys that usually pursued her, and hang up.
“Reconsider, Riley,” he instructed her, his quiet, deep voice compelling her to give in.
Oh god. She put her head down on her knees for a moment and then she stiffened her spine. She was not a weakling. She would not let some man, no matter how scary he was, push her into a corner and terrorize her into a date. Glaring at the flowers, she said clearly and coldly, “I said no.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment and then he said in a warmly amused voice, “Then let the games begin, Riley Bancroft.”
What the fuck did that mean?
CHAPTER FOUR
“You’re clear, Reaper. Shift now and take the inside,” Wendell’s voice buzzed in her ear.
Riley felt the vibrations of the car, the blood pumping through her veins and the music blasting all around her. She placed her fingertips against the gearshift, let the car drift a few extra seconds and then moving her feet in tandem with her hand, switched gears. The car screamed around the cliff edge, biting through grass and dirt as it left the road for a few seconds before regaining the asphalt and overtaking the lead car.
“Fuck, Riley!” Wendell’s voice shouted in her ear. “That was a fucking stupid move. You could’ve gone over. Goddamnit woman, are you trying to die?! And my fucking tires are toast, aren’t they?”
Grinning, Riley turned the music up and ignored Wendell’s tirade. That’s why they called her the Reaper. She flew in like an angel of death to take out her competitors. He knew as well as her that she wouldn’t’ve beat out Roadkill for the lead if she hadn’t pulled that last stunt on the cliff edge. Of course, Wendell didn’t care where she placed in the race. All he cared about was seeing their cars in action, watching their sleek lines eat up the road under her skilled hands. All this from his safely staked out spot high up on the cliff with a pair of binoculars.
Riley cared about this race. She needed it if she wanted to get noticed for the big bi-annual race that was worth two million dollars, possibly a sponsor or two, and a shit ton of prestige. The Sparrow Hawk Cup was an invitation only race and she intended to get an invitation this time. She felt Roadkill tight on her ass, ready to retake his lead the second she gave him the opportunity. Yeah, no fucking way.
She swerved to block him when he would’ve passed on a curve, bumping his left front fender with her right bumper. She winced as they collided and sent him into the guardrail for a few precious seconds before he regained control. She had enough lead time on him now that he wouldn’t be catching up. Wendell was going to kill her for messing up his car.
“I’m going to kill you for fucking up my car!” Wendell shouted in her ear.
She grinned and tapped the brakes as she reached the set of lights at the bottom of Old Bay Road, they’re unofficial finish line, then spun her tires and headed to the all-night diner up the road the crew had agreed to meet at. A crowd of people were already gathered to greet them. Riley grinned as she got out and accepted the well wishes and congratulations.
“You little bitch!” Roadkill, who had pulled up behind her, lunged for her. Riley screamed as he grabbed her by the waist, tossed her in the air and mock body slammed against the side of her car. “I had that fucking race before you nearly went suicide over that cliff. And what the fuck was that little love t
ap you gave me? Thought this was a no contact race? You owe me a new light, Reaper.”
Riley laughed and punched him in the arm. The blond Australian was her biggest competition in these races. It was usually a toss up between them. Four others had been racing with them, but they hadn’t even come close to touching Roadkill or the Reaper.
“All’s fair in love and racing, bitch,” she grinned up at him. He gave her a smacking kiss on the cheek, slapped her ass and went to find his girlfriend Lula who’d been watching from the top of the cliff.
“Hey!” she called after him, “don’t forget, gaming Saturday! Katie’s in town for a few days and wants to go to King Me for some old-fashioned first-person shooter. Bring Lula!”
“You’re on!” he shouted back before disappearing into a group of friends who had just arrived from the starting point.
Riley went to one of the outdoor windows of the diner and ordered two cups of coffee and two pieces of pie to go. She turned her back on the window while she waited and crowd watched. Rita Flannigan, bubblegum pink hair like a beacon in the night, was striding toward her. At over six feet tall and wearing leather from head to foot she was impossible to miss.
She greeted Riley with a grin and slapped the $2,000 prize money into Riley’s palm. Giving her a wink she said, “That was ballsy, Reaper. Let’s hope you caught the right eyes tonight. Let me know if you hear anything from the Sparrow, kay? We’re all dying of curiosity. Been a long time since a lady’s gotten into that circle. The boys think its too dangerous and that’s why women can’t get near it. I call bullshit. If anyone can do it, you can. You killed it on that cliff tonight and made all the little babies at the top pee a little.”
Driven by Desire Page 2