by Penny Wylder
Fuck. I’m getting wet just thinking about it. Not to mention standing so close to him…
I clear my throat, mostly to get the sudden tightness out of it. “You’re wasting time,” I reply, after too long and too noticeable a pause. “You should be drawing me a map to the money’s location.”
“Should I?” He lifts one brow, and that maddening smirk of his is wider than ever. I want to wipe it off his face. “Tell me again why I would do that, when it’s the only bargaining chip I have left. Well, besides your obvious desire for me.”
God, that fucking smirk. It would look sexy as hell if I were gazing down at it while he bent me backwards across this table, and slid down my body to peel off this tight-as-hell skirt…
Get it together, Ashley.
I force myself to laugh, derisive. “My desire for you?”
“Don’t get me wrong. I’m flattered,” Damon says. “It’s not just any day you find a woman of your caliber lusting after a man like me.”
That does it. I sputter and shove him with both hands, full in the chest.
He doesn’t move an inch. Just laughs.
“In your dreams, Damon Tell.”
“You definitely will be tonight.” He lifts one brow. “I can see it already. You spread-eagled across my bed while I tear those confining clothes off your willing body…”
I storm past him toward the door. He stops me, catching my wrist in one hand, so huge it wraps all the way around and pins me in place. An instinctive shout dies on my lips, if only because I don’t want to tip off the guards. I haven’t been able to get what Dad needed from Damon, so I need to keep the guards believing this lie for as long as possible. They can’t know I’m not actually Damon’s fiancée. Which means I can’t shout for them to rescue me from him. Not unless it’s absolutely necessary.
“Let go of my hand,” I say, my voice low and even and furious.
To his credit, he drops his grip immediately and steps back, but he continues watching me with that infuriatingly amused expression. “Walking out before our conjugal visit even finishes, my darling?”
“This was never a conjugal visit, you bastard.”
“Then tell me why you’re so hot and bothered right now.”
“The only thing bothering me is that you’re refusing to tell me what I need to know.”
His eyebrow rises. “I see. That’s the only thing.” His gaze drops along my body, and this time, it lingers on my skirt, my hips. “Prove it.”
“What?” I sputter.
“Prove you aren’t hot for me, and I’ll tell you what you want to know.”
I hesitate, sensing a trap. Then I shift my weight, cross my arms and plant my feet. “Fine. Prove it how?”
His grin widens. Whatever gamble he’s making, he sure is confident in himself. “Show me your panties.”
My jaw drops. “What?”
“Show me your panties. Prove you aren’t turned on right now. Then I’ll tell you where the money is.”
I scoff again, mostly to buy time. Because fuck, I can already feel that I’m wet. And this conversation, him acting so goddamn demanding and stern, isn’t helping. My animal brain is into that, as much as my logical life brain despises it. “I am not showing you my panties.”
“Fine.” He shrugs one shoulder, unconcerned, and crosses the room to drop back into his chair. “Then I guess you don’t really want that money after all.”
The money he stole from my father—from my family. The money we need to keep our business afloat right now. The money he stole from an innocent man—who yes, we were planning to rob. But not kill.
The money I need to find in order to prove to my father that I can handle my own in this world. The money I need to bring to my father to prove that I’m the right heir for this business, even though things can get dangerous at times. He doubts me sometimes, says this kind of work isn’t for women. I need to prove him wrong.
I hold Damon’s gaze for a long, silent moment. Then I shift my weight. “If I show you my panties, then you tell me. That’s the deal.”
He clicks his tongue. “No deal if they’re wet, dirty girl. You swore you weren’t into me, remember?”
“I’m not doing this.”
“What are you, scared?” He shakes his head again. “Daddy’s little girl is in over her head, clearly.”
Maybe they aren’t wet yet. Maybe I’m just feeling it internally. Maybe I can bluff my way through this. “Turn around,” I snap.
His eyebrows shoot up his forehead. He clearly didn’t expect me to take him up on this dare. But with a shrug and that damn grin, he does, he turns his back to me and faces the opposite wall. “I’d say no cheating,” he adds, “but I can’t see how you could cheat, unless you carry a clean pair of panties in that bag of yours.”
After today, I’m going to start, I think. At the same time, I reach up under my skirt and shimmy out of my panties. Let them drop to the floor to assess the damage.
Fuck.
They land straight between my feet with a solid plop, enough to make Damon turn back around before I’m even done stepping out of them.
“Fuck, Ashley, you’re dirtier than I thought.”
The panties get stuck on my shoe, so I simply kick my foot in his direction. They land right across his lap, a perfect strike. As I watch, he peels them off himself, amusement written all over his face. “I don’t think I need to tell you I win.”
“I don’t think I need to remind you that you’re wrong. You’re in prison, Damon, and us? We’re holding the keys.” With that, I wrench the doorknob and yank open the door.
Only to find the guard right outside, watching. He sees the panties in Damon’s fist and laughs. “Souvenir?”
As I watch, Damon lifts my panties to his face and breathes in deep, a feral grin taking over his expression. He looks hungry, and in spite of myself, I can’t help feeling even hotter at the sight.
“From my sexy fox of a fiancée,” Damon replies. “Don’t worry, it’s a one-time only souvenir. Next time she won’t be wearing any panties. Isn’t that right, sweetie?”
I slam the door in his face at that, which makes the guard burst into laughter. To the guard, all I say is, “I’m ready to go.”
2
“I couldn’t get anything out of him, Dad. I’m sorry.”
Dad paces across the study, a cigar in one fist and a glass of whiskey in the other. The latter, he downs in one gulp and plops onto his desk for me to refill.
I do.
“You had one job, Ashley.”
“I know, Dad. I just didn’t expect him to be so…” When I don’t continue for a moment, at a loss, Dad clears his throat sharply.
“So what, Ashley?”
“So himself. I don’t know. He just refused to listen to anything I said, even when I suggested we’d send him to solitary for months—”
“Prying information from someone like him is a negotiation, Ashley. You don’t open a negotiation with the minimum bid. You said months? You should have told him we’d lock him in there for years. For a decade at least. That, or you threaten to have him strangled in his sleep.”
My eyes widen. “But—”
“No, we wouldn’t actually. But you start high and then barter lower. Have I taught you nothing? Threaten his life, then become lenient and suggest only a few years in solitary once he’s panicking.”
I grimace. “I’m sorry, Dad. If I can just meet with him again, I’m sure I can do better…”
“You’ll have to. We’re running out of time, and options. We need that cash if we’re going to stay in business past the month’s end. Beyond that…”
“I know, Dad. If we don’t get it, then Diggs and his crew close in. Take over our territory, and probably hire hits on us both before a day has passed.”
“Then you know how high the stakes are here. How important this is. How much trust I’m placing in you.”
“Of course I do, Dad.”
He clenches his fist around th
e whiskey glass and downs another glass all in two gulps. “Then why,” he snarls once he’s finished, “are you disappointing me?”
“I’m sorry. I’ll do better.”
He grabs my wrist just as I reach for the bottle of scotch to top him up. “Damn right you will, Ashley. Because this time, we’re not allowing for any mistakes.” He squeezes, just hard enough for me to feel it. My stomach clenches.
Dad’s never hurt me. Not exactly. He gets his rages, but who doesn’t? He’d never take it any farther than this, than just blowing off steam in my general direction. He’s not a good person, I know that. But he’s not a monster either.
He lets go of my wrist with an exasperated sigh and snatches up his third glass to swirl it. “I’ve asked Gunther to arrange your next meeting. More private this time. If all else fails, I want you to use your assets to secure the information.”
I can’t help it. The scotch bottle slips from my grip and thuds against the table surface. I catch it just in time to avoid it toppling over and spilling, then glare at my father across the table. “You want me to whore myself out?”
“No, Ashley, I want you to negotiate like a proper businesswoman, and secure the deal. But, failing that, there are some advantages to you having been born a woman. Such as the fact that you are exactly Damon Tell’s type. In this world, you use every advantage you can get, no matter how unsavory.” His gaze searches mine, searing. “If you don’t want to sink to that level, then I suggest you perform better at the task I already set you.”
With that, he takes his final glass of whiskey and storms from the private study in which we’ve been talking. I stand there at the table, staring after him for a solid minute before I suck in a deep, infuriated breath and pour myself a glass, too.
“Jasper, I need you to arrange another meeting for me.” I cross my arms and lean back against the Ferrari that Jasper is currently repairing—fresh back in Dad’s garage after a late night job that left it dented and banged up in ways I don’t want to think about. Especially the deep indent on the hood, which Jasper has already repainted and begun to pull back into its usual shape. Before he started to fix it, though, I caught a long enough glimpse to notice that the indent was suspiciously deep and broad. Almost… person-shaped?
But I dismiss that thought. Dad is strictly anti-killing except in extreme cases—cases like when one of his men goes nuts and tries to kill innocent bystanders, or when enemy gang members start taking shots at us. If Jasper ran someone down in this car last night, then whoever it was must have had it coming. They must have thrown the first punch. That’s our rule.
So I hope, anyway.
“Another meeting?” Jasper asks, taking his time to slide out from under the front of the Ferrari and push himself to his feet. Jasper has been working for Dad for over two years now, and while the tall, heavy-set, hard-faced man has always made my skin crawl, I’ve gotten used to having him around. He might be a creep who takes one too many long leering glances at my chest or legs anytime I’m in the room, but he gets jobs done, and never asks too many questions. There’s value in a man like that, even a sleazy one. “Thought you were supposed to get all the details outta Tell today.”
“Yes, well. Turns out he’s not as much of a talker as we hoped.” I huff out a hard sigh.
Jasper’s gaze, as usual, drifts toward my face, but sticks on my chest. He licks his lips, a long, slow motion that turns my stomach. “Your fiancé want a little more than you’re willing to give, that it?” he asks, sneering.
I grit my teeth, not just at Jasper’s insinuation, but at the sudden flash of memory. Damon’s hot gaze boring into mine. The haughty smirk on his lips when he told me to take off my panties. The way the heat radiated off his strong, muscular body when he stood an inch away from me. There’s no doubt about it—Damon Tell could eat me alive.
And damn, do I want him to.
Unfortunately, just thinking about that has made my cheeks flush, and Jasper takes a break from ogling my chest long enough to notice. “Well I’ll be damned,” he says, laughing. “Miss Prude herself has a weak spot after all. Thought you were the resident Ice Queen, Ashley. Lusting for a bad boy after all?” Jasper takes a step closer to me. I step back at the same time, mirroring him.
“The only lust I have for Damon Tell is a lust for revenge,” I snap.
That makes Jasper’s eyebrows rise, though his smirk only deepens. “You know you’re only hotter when you talk dirty like that, little Miss Marrón.”
“Don’t make me sic my father on you,” I reply in a carefully even voice, as though bored. In reality, I’m suddenly very aware of the room we’re in—the back garage, the one Dad keeps on lockdown. The one with soundproof walls for a very specific, very unpleasant reason. The one that most of his henchmen aren’t allowed inside—only guys like Jasper who have been working for him long enough that Dad has plenty of leverage over them. Enough of their own dark secrets for Dad to trust them with his.
We’re alone in here, and I know it all too well. So does Jasper.
“Daddy isn’t here right now, little girl. It’s just you and me.” He steps closer again.
I force myself to laugh, loud and sharp. “If you think he’s not watching you every minute of every day that you’re here in his house, then you’re slower on the uptake than I thought, Jasper.” I allow my eyes to tick sideways for a second, really briefly, just glancing at the upper right hand corner of the garage. I pretend it was unconscious, a mistake.
Jasper falls for it. He follows my gaze to the security camera rigged up in the corner. It’s rolling, like always. Dad never bothers to watch the tape, but Jasper doesn’t need to know that. All he needs is the reminder that he’s on our turf. We’re in control here.
“Relax, I don’t mean any harm,” he says, laughing as he raises his hands in faux surrender. “So you need another conjugal visit with your intended. Fine. I’ll arrange that for you. More private this time. See how you like Mr. Tell when you have him all to your lonesome, without Daddy babysitting you, without any guards around to rescue you.” He casts another lingering glance over my body. “I’m sure he’ll enjoy having you, at any rate.”
“Just book the damn meeting, Jasper.” I spin on my heel and march toward the far corner of the garage, toward the exit that leads back into the main house. “As soon as possible.”
“Make sure you get us what we need this time, Ms. Marrón. Use those assets of yours—and I don’t mean your wits.” He laughs again, and I cast one last angry scowl over my shoulder, just in time to watch him check out my ass.
I slam the door to the garage behind me and stalk away. Jasper is a tool. A means to an end. Dad keeps him around for dirty work, not his charming personality. Still, I can’t help but resent what he implied. That I’m just going to fuck the information we need out of Damon Tell.
Worse, after the way my traitorous body reacted to Damon last time, a little part of me fears that Jasper might have a point…
3
It’s my first time in the conjugal visitation building. This place is nicer than the shithole where they let us meet our usual visitors—not that I’ve had many of those, mind—but that ain’t saying much. The room the guards escorted me into smells like bleach, and the fluorescent lights make the back of my eyeballs ache. It’s dim as hell in the main prison, everywhere from the mess hall to our bunks requiring we squint all the time. This sudden flood of light is an assault on my eyes.
I take a seat on the tiny twin bed, the only furniture in the room aside from a coffee table with two plastic mugs, a single pot of coffee, and no chairs. I try not to think about who was on this bed before, or what kind of shit they got up to in here. At least the white sheets look clean.
Then I try not to let my mind wander to Ashley Marrón. I try very damn hard not to think about what I’d like to do to my “fiancée” in this tiny soundproof private room of ours. I try not to think about her scent—the sweet, sticky smell that clung to those panties I made he
r give me last time. The panties I still have saved in my bunk, panties that I clenched tight in one hand while I wrapped my other fist around my hard cock, thinking about her wide brown doe eyes and the way her mouth jutted out in a pout when she argued with me. Fuck, I’d like to see those lips wrapped around my dick. I’d like to see how high and mighty she could act if I had her bent over in front of me with my cock in her tight little pussy. I’d like to make that girl scream and beg me to let her come, and I’d like to draw that out for as long as possible, make her wild with lust before I finally give her the orgasm her body is begging for.
I won’t lie, it does make it hotter that that sexy little girl is the daughter of my enemy. Fucking her would really piss off her Daddy, and it’d serve him right.
But it also makes her a hell of a lot more dangerous than she looks. Because I know the Marrón family. I know what her father is capable of, and I can only assume that his daughter is cut from the same cloth.
After all, Mauricio Marrón is the reason I’m in here. Without him, I’d be a free man. Without him, Eric Brown would still be alive today. Without him, Eric’s wife and kids would be home safe with their father, not out there on the run, living in secret, hiding from everyone and everything in their past.
Still. She’s an easy mark. A good way to get back at her father. If I can corrupt his little girl, it’s the least I can do to get revenge, after everything he’s done…
A deafening pounding on the door startles me out of my reverie. I glance down, and curse under my breath, realizing I’m still hard from daydreaming about Ashley earlier.
Get your shit together, Tell.
I straighten and lean back on one elbow, a smirk already plastered on my face as the guard shoves open the door. “Your fiancée is here,” he announces, pointlessly, since Ashley is already brushing past him into the room.
Fuck.
She looks even hotter than last time. She’s clearly abandoned the pretense that she’s here on business—rather than a suit, she’s in a tight miniskirt and a top that clings in all the right places, cut low enough to give me a perfect eyeful of her ample breasts. And… if I’m not mistaken, she isn’t wearing a bra. I can see the hard outlines of her nipples, standing at attention in the chilly room.