Pierce realized his hand was absently on his stiff cock. Harder and fatter than usual. He shook his head and went for a glass of water. Women didn’t get to him like this. When he started to fantasize about a woman, which he almost never did, he’d just call one up. Fuck her and give her cab money.
There was always a long enough line of beautiful women, women with pouting lips and thrilling, quivering breasts. Women who had begged him to fuck them and he hadn’t bothered. He could call one, any of them would come running.
But not now. Right now he wasn’t interested in any of them. He must be tired.
Pierce heard a thud and Callaghan shouted from the guest suite, “Boss!”
Pierce started through the kitchen. When he got to the stairway, Callaghan had Princess in an arm lock. He dragged her to the steps and Pierce stood aside to let them through.
When he got her to the lounge, Callaghan said, “She had the letter opener, and she was using it to try and hack open the bathroom window. I heard the sound from outside and I had to shove open the door.”
When Callaghan said he’d “shoved” the door, that probably meant there was no longer a door. Callaghan let go of Princess and let her stand. She shook herself and jutted her jaw. In the print dress and boots without the leather jacket, she looked vulnerable.
Agostini lowered his voice and pointed to the couch. “Sit down, Princess. We need to have a talk.”
Her eyes blazed and she said, “I’m not—” He stepped toward her. She sat.
“Were you really hoping to climb out and helter-skelter straight down twelve hundred feet of glass?” She tightened her lips and narrowed her eyes.
He went on, “It’s a bold plan, but it’s flawed. I feel you haven’t taken full account of the sudden death element.”
She said nothing, but she was radiant with anger. Agostini took a deep breath.
“I’m sorry if it infringes on your liberty, Princess, but you may not commit suicide while you’re in my care and custody. It could upset my schedule and it would be an awful nuisance.”
She glowered.
He told her, “Outside the bathroom window is a drop of about ten feet to a glass balustrade. That’s about two and a half feet wide, so in the wind, you would have a pretty good chance of missing it. Even if you managed to land square, and if you were lucky, the wind would pluck you off in no time. Did I mention that we’re twelve hundred feet up?”
After a moment’s sulky silence she spoke. “What do you mean, ‘lucky’?”
“Not much lives up at this height, Princess.” He gestured to the loggia, indicating the view. “The building, like most tall buildings, has staff to police the few things that do inhabit the altitude.” She frowned.
“Not human staff,” he said, “obviously. They employ big hawks. Eagles, to be precise. A fine family of golden eagles keep the riff-raff away from the armored glass of our balconies.”
He watched her think about it, turning it over. It was going to be hard to keep a tight rein on her. Especially when she was so attractive. Each time he saw her, he saw something new and he liked her better.
“When cleaners and maintenance crews work outside,” he said, “they tie themselves into gondolas that hang on steel cables from cranes and they wear carbon fiber armor, covered in thick leather.” Was he putting her off outdoor adventures at Park Place Pinnacle? The spark in her eye made him doubt it. “And they carry weapons. Just in case.
“A letter opener won’t make it against a golden eagle, Princess.”
“Can I get a glass of water?” she asked.
“Callaghan will get it for you.”
“What about the balconies outside?” Her head was low and so was her voice. “The–what do you call them, the viewing boxes?”
“The one in the guest suite is a bay,” he told her, like this was Architecture 101. “This one is a loggia, because it covers two stories.” He gave her a nice smile. “What about them?”
She said, “They both have balconies outside. There must be some way to get to them.”
He narrowed his eyes. She wanted him to tell her the way out. Well, good luck, Princess, he thought. As far as he knew, there wasn’t one that wouldn’t lead to imminent doom. “They’re part decorative, partly for service. The only way to reach them is from above. Either in the service gondolas or by wire.”
As Callaghan ran a glass of water from the kitchen faucet, Agostini stood and went over to the window in the loggia. The instant his back was turned, Princess took the briefest of chances and bolted for the elevator.
Callaghan’s frown spread and his head shook as he looked up at Pierce. Pierce drew an inward sigh. She hit the elevator button.
Pierce didn’t move. Neither did Callaghan. He was starting to chuckle, but Agostini felt his irritation rise. She rattled the elevator button. And nothing happened. She pressed the button again and again, apparently baffled when it didn’t even light up.
Then her shoulders sagged as she touched the lock beneath the button. Just like the one inside the elevator. Pierce Agostini was right behind her when she spun around, so near that her breasts were pressed against the ridges of his stomach. He pressed closer.
“Look, if I don’t have you, then I won’t get your daddy’s cooperation.” Her eyes brightened. But he held up a finger. “If I have to, I can do what I need with the both of you in barrels of oil. It isn’t what I want, but I can do it. Am I getting through to you?”
He stepped forward, pushed her back against the cold lacquer of the elevator door. Felt her intake of breath. Watched the defiance in her widening eyes turn to uncertainty.
“Here’s how it works, Princess: if you don’t behave, if you cause trouble, it’s your daddy who will pay the price in the end. Now stop making life difficult for all of us and let’s just get through this.”
He knew what was about to happen and he was ready. She wasn’t. The elevator bell dinged and the doors slid apart.
She could have fallen straight backwards into the elevator and whacked her head. The elevator carpet was thick, and Pierce knew that Calhoun was inside, but instinctively, he grabbed her.
He caught her. Snatched her close. He gripped her hard. Her body pressed back against him. He tasted her breath. He smelled the fresh, straw scent of her hair. And her fragrance rose, sharp and strong.
She heard the “ding.” The elevator doors slid open and she fell backwards into the space. But he caught her. Pulled her to him. Her breath fluttered in her chest. Damn, he was so hot, and it was so unfair.
How could she have such a powerful attraction for such a brute and a bully? He took her from home and her daddy, and now her body was cheering for the enemy.
It was like she was half of a traitor to her own cause. The thought made Princess afraid. She knew that she had to resist him, but she worried about how she could do it.
Her hips pressed against him, even though she didn’t mean them to, but when they did, she thought that she could maybe have stopped it. Maybe. But she didn’t.
Seeing him mad like that, feeling him, hot and pumped, it made her so hot. So wet she practically melted. It was bad and she knew it was, but she couldn’t control her body, it wasn’t a choice. There wasn’t a thing she could do.
His nostrils flared and his eyes flashed. The press of his hand in the small of her back made her tremble. Her lips twitched and she sucked them between her teeth.
Callaghan was behind him, shifting on his feet. The other one was still behind her, in the elevator. Kind of trapped.
Pierce Agostini bit his lip as he put her down. She lifted a challenging eyebrow, but she didn’t want to push him or her luck too much further. At least not right now. Not without a prize in clear view. The back of her mind gnawed at the business of finding ways out.
There has to be a way, she thought, and she felt sure there was an answer staring her in the face, but one that she somehow couldn’t see. Meanwhile, she should at least try to act subdued. Make him think she’d given
up.
She slouched. “All right. I’m going to make a call. Do you want me to use a house phone, or can I use my cell?”
He stepped back. “Use whatever you like.”
There would be privacy if she made a call in her lounge, but she decided that she’d rather be able to watch Agostini and his henchmen. She went to the loggia and sat on the arm of the couch. Might as well enjoy the view. It’s not the view’s fault that I’m stuck here.
The first thing ought to be for her to call her father, just to let him know that she was all right, but if they spoke on the phone, she thought he would get upset. Maybe better to send him a text message. Maybe call later.
Daddy, I’m OK.
They’re treating me well.
I’ll call you soon.
Sending the message sparked a sharp pang in her heart. This was probably going to be harder for Daddy than it was for her.
Calhoun put a plate on the table near her with slices of lox and cream cheese on a bagel and a salad. Her tall glass was refilled with champagne. He gave her a gentle smile as he set the glass down and left her.
The person she really wanted to talk to was Ethan, her BFF since they were so nearly an “item” after the school prom. She’d already been thinking about calling him.
It had been weeks since she had, and it was way past time. He had been on her mind even before Pierce Agostini flipped the tables of her life. After she hit the number in her address book, it rang five or six times. She was sure that she was going to have her heart-to-heart with Ethan’s voicemail.
Wouldn’t be the first time. Her lip twisted. Then he picked up. “Princess. I thought you’d been kidnapped by aliens.”
“I have been kidnapped. Not by aliens, though, and only today. I’m sorry I haven’t called before.”
“So, who were you kidnapped by, if not aliens?” She could tell he wasn’t sure if she was joking, but he was playing along in case she was. Leaving her to set the tone.
“Gangsters. Much less interesting. I’m in their gangster lair right now. You heard of Pierce Agostini?”
“God, yeah. ‘The bad boy of Wall Street.’ Is he really a gangster?”
“Certainly acts like one.”
“Princess! Really?”
“Yeah. But it’s okay.” Hearing Ethan’s voice always made her remember their childhood. Now, it seemed to open the lid on her emotions. She gulped and pressed her lips between her teeth. “Really, I’m okay.”
“Apart from the criminal king-pin holding you captive thing? Oh, well, that’s reassuring.” Ethan’s dead-pan wrapped a warm glow of comfort around her like a familiar blanket. “You almost had me worried there for a moment.”
“Really, Ethan, I’m fine. Honestly.” Princess held a snigger back, but it was such a relief to talk to him, she almost buckled. “A gangster came and took over Hotsteppa’s. He’s keeping me to make Daddy do what he says.”
“Oh, so it’s just an everyday hostage, coercion, and blackmail situation. I am relieved. What could possibly go wrong with that?” She peered out over the park.
Ethan said, “In the papers he’s a billionaire financier, isn’t he?”
“Trust me, Ethan. He’s a full-service gangster. Extortions R Us. WeGraft.com.”
“Well, as long as he’s the real thing. I wouldn’t want to think of you being held captive by a flaky, fake gangster. Are you being treated all right? Are you in rusty chains? Does he feed you gruel?”
“Champagne so far. And smoked salmon.”
“Unbearable.”
“Caviar at breakfast, I expect. Lobster for lunch.”
“Princess, you got me crying. The man’s a monster. A low-fiber diet is all very fine for an angry mobster—he’s probably used to it. But you, Princess? Doesn’t he know you need greens? Does the brute have no care for your complexion?”
“Ethan, I want to hear about you. You were made the music promoter at the Laguna, right?”
“Yeah. Are you sure you don’t want me to mount a rescue attempt?”
“Definitely not, Ethan. Seriously, he said if anyone came, he’d have them thrown off the roof.”
“How high is the roof?”
“I’m looking out over Central Park, and I can see the Hudson and the financial district from here.”
“How long can you stand captivity in conditions like that, Princess? Seriously, you sure I shouldn’t call the cops?”
“No, Ethan, don’t. And seriously, I’m okay.” Talking to Ethan, someone familiar, someone she trusted, she realized it was true. She didn’t quite have her plan yet, but she was okay. “Tell me about the Laguna.”
“We got taken over by a genuine thug. White Russian guy. I don’t mean he was a Cossack, or whatever it is. I just mean he’s white, like deathly pale.”
Princess lowered her voice. “Really? Now I need to know if you’re okay.” She slipped off the arm of the couch and curled up in the corner.
Ethan said, “I’m fine, sure. He walked in a few days ago with a wall of goons in black and white Prada. He’s one of those thin, bloodless dudes with a voice that makes you go cold.”
She cupped her hand around the phone as she listened.
“Pale blond, more straw than strawberry. Dead eyes with almost no color. If he sleeps, he probably does it hanging upside down or in a coffin or something. Moves without a sound. He’d probably have you cut up just to see how nutritious you might be. Don’t know what he said to Paretsky, but he took a powder and blew.”
“You’ve been finding time for old black and white gangster movies.”
“Burt Lancaster, Alan Ladd. Veronica Lake and Barbara Stanwyck. You know I love that shit.”
“But how are you, Ethan? And how are things at the club?”
“Well, since we’re under mob management, we’ve had even more of the superstar DJs on. Chuck E. D. and Jay Jay Effers played last weekend.” Those were big names, even for the Laguna. Princess was impressed. Ethan said, “There’s money sloshing around everywhere now.”
“Any of it dribbling your way?”
Ethan laughed nervously. “Really, Princess, I’m too wary of someone down the line wanting to collect on a ‘favor.’ ”
“If he wanted to collect, and he’s really the hood you say he is, it wouldn’t make much difference whether you ‘owed’ him or not. Might as well grab whatever swag is going.”
Ethan was quiet for a moment. Thinking, maybe. “Maybe you’re right. Anyway, he says he wants me to get the kind of music that will attract the big investment bankers.”
“What kind of music is that?”
“If you find out, message me fast. Judging by the ones we’ve seen in Laguna, the only thing they want to listen to apart from the sound of bulk bill-counters is the honk of their own bragging.”
“They’re coming into the club, then?”
“Some. Mainly the ones the ghost brings personally in his limo. And they don’t stay long.”
Her voice was low, almost a whisper. Now she wished she had made the call from her room. “I wonder if that’s the reason Agostini wants Hotsteppa’s. Strange coincidence, isn’t it?”
“Mm. So, apart from torturing you with rich foods and wines that are inappropriate for the time of day, is he treating you okay?”
She drew a breath. “I suppose he’s pretty okay, under the circumstances. For a brute.”
Perfectly Bad: a bad boy romance Page 4