Even Money (All In Duet Book 1)

by Alessandra Torre

  Her eyes met his. “I could say the same to you. Is something wrong?”

  He ran a hand over his face, smoothing the skin, and giving himself a moment to collect his thoughts. “I like her.” Nothing for you to worry about. He couldn’t voice that lie. Already, he could see the pool of trouble that Bell was going to cause.

  “You. Like. Her.” Gwen said the words slowly, as if her mind was trying to translate them. “Like. That’s it?”

  “Yes.”

  Her gaze found his and he felt exposed in the heat of her stare, the way she examined every tic of his face and looked for more. But she didn’t know what deceit from him looked like. Not when he had never lied to her before, had never needed to, had never risked their marriage in this manner before.

  “Don’t worry.” His words came out strong and powerful, protection wrapped in every syllable. He interrupted her examination with a kiss, leaning forward and pressing his lips against her forehead in a solid and firm movement.

  It felt wrong and, for one of the first times in their marriage, he felt dirty.

  GWEN

  Her father sat across from her, his head down, focused on the rack of lamb falling victim to his knife. He cut it with quick and short precision, the blade flashing in the afternoon sun, each crunch of gristle and bone giving her a fresh shot of panic.

  Every lunch with him was the same. A sixty-minute session of nerves and anxiety, lies and promises, threats and fulfillments. How had she ever survived twenty years under his roof? How had she emerged in one piece? What would she have done without Dario?

  Three questions Gwen asked herself constantly. Three questions that never produced answers.

  “Everything okay with you and Dario?”

  She looked up from her wine to find him watching her, his lamb spared, his eyes pinned on her. She forced a smile. “Of course.”

  But it wasn’t. For reasons unknown to her, their ground was shaky, the foundation cracked. Dario was failing to fix the issues, to right their heading. She thought of their conversation this morning, the way his voice had changed when he had brushed off his newest fuck. He had told her not to worry, had promised her that everything was fine. But it wasn’t. Something was off. And chances were, this girl was the reason.

  “I can keep an eye on him, if you’d like.”

  Her father’s offer was a red flag, the sort she’d heard all of her life, a casual suggestion that had always ended in disaster.

  I’ll talk to him about your grade. Professor Vance, showing up in class with a cast on one arm, his eyes down, hands trembling when she approached his desk. The shiny and perfect A that had appeared on her report card, paired with a glowing recommendation letter for colleges, unrequested and filled with descriptions that sounded nothing like her.

  She shouldn’t disrespect you like that. Her friend Charlotte, who made a mistake and kissed Gwen’s boyfriend. He’d broken their relationship off, Gwen had cried, and Charlotte had disappeared, her remains found nine months later, her bones picked clean by coyotes and vultures.

  No date for prom? How can that be? The singer from the Backstreet Boys, who had shown up on their doorstep, a rose in hand, fear in his eyes. She had hoped for a kiss, but he’d practically sprinted away at the end of the night.

  Her father was a man with unlimited means, yet violence was always the answer.

  “I don’t want you to keep an eye on him.” She spoke emphatically, trying to get through his psychotic head, but her father’s lips tightened, some idea behind the gesture. She reached out and touched his hand in an attempt to catch his attention. “Dad. My marriage is fine. Dario is great. I don’t want you doing anything to mess that up.”

  He didn’t respond, and her touch tightened. “Dad. Promise me that you’ll leave Dario alone.”

  His gaze finally moved to her face and he gave a slow grin that only alarmed her further. “Of course. I’m not going to touch a hair on Dario’s head. Why would I?” He spread his hands and raised them in the air. “Why would I? I love that kid.”

  And he always had loved Dario. It was one the reasons their marriage had worked. Her father had embraced Dario like the son he’d never had. He’d blessed their marriage and left them alone, never seemed to snoop around, or ask questions, or have any idea about their extracurricular activities.

  So why the questions about her marriage? Maybe he had a plant out at the ranch, someone who had seen her and Nick. They hadn’t exactly been discreet, hadn’t felt the need to be on the three-thousand-acre ranch. And they hadn’t wasted a single hour of last weekend. She swallowed a smile at the thought of Nick, naked in the sunlight, the muscles in his arms when he’d moved above her, the taste of his kiss in the morning before breakfast.

  It hadn’t been fair for her to press Dario about his feelings for this new girl. Not when Gwen had fallen for Nick years ago, their passion rekindled with every trip she made, her visits more frequent in the last year.

  “Dario’s the only one who’s ever made you smile like that.” Her father spoke softly, almost tenderly, and she looked up from her plate, unaware that her face had given away her thoughts about Nick.

  She nodded tightly, letting him believe the lie.

  “You know I would never jeopardize your relationship with him. I’d do anything to protect it.”

  She swallowed, reaching for her wine and lifting it to her lips, grateful for the distraction. She caught a glance at her watch and breathed a sigh of relief at the time. Lunch, almost over. Another grenade, almost avoided.

  I would never jeopardize your relationship with him. I’d do anything to protect it. His words pounded through her head and she gulped at the wine, finishing the remainder of the glass.

  BELL

  I was running, feet smacking against the pavement, vintage Dr. Dre thumping through my earbuds when my phone rang. I wove around a brochure-passing stripper and pressed the button on my headphone cord, answering the call.

  “Hello?”

  “You sound busy.” Dario’s voice crackled through the earbuds.

  I slowed to a walk, and glanced down the street where I could see the towers of The Majestic sparkling in the sun. “I got a minute.”

  “I’m heading to San Diego tomorrow, just for a night. Want to come?”

  A seven-foot-tall transvestite tottered by on uneven platforms. I moved aside to give her some room. “Flying or driving?”

  “Driving. The plane…” His voice fell off and I wondered, for a moment, if I’d lost him. “The plane would cause too many issues for us, right now.”

  “So we’re talking about a road trip. You and me.”

  “Yes. I’ll try my best to keep both hands on the wheel.” There was a smirk in his voice and I grinned in response, the decision already made.

  “I’ve got my last exam—I should be done around eleven. After that, I’m in.” I turned back, picking up my pace and jogging toward my car. A night away from my issues and his marriage, on a trip all our own… it would be nice.

  Twenty-Seven

  “I’ve got to step up my game.” Dario stood in the middle of my room, his hands on his hips, and surveyed the area, every spare surface piled with clothes, books, and crap. He looked out of place, too big for this room, and too sexy for words in faded jeans, a T-shirt clinging to his build and a Breitling watch heavy on his wrist.

  “What do you mean?” I pushed aside hangers and squeezed to the back of my closet, running my hand over items until I felt the scratchy fabric of my yellow dress. I wiggled it loose and emerged, running a hand through my hair and taming it back into place.

  “Your room.” He stepped over and peered down at my desk, my textbooks half covered by my recent Sephora haul. “It’s … crowded.”

  “Yep.” I took a giant step over a pile of folded towels and tossed a lone shoe in the general direction of the bed.

  “And this is your closet.” He took in the cram of hangers, the pile of shoes in the floor, every inch packed to overflowi
ng.

  I squeezed past him and folded the dress into fourths, pushing it into the bag and working the zipper closed. “Your powers of observation are impressive.”

  “I don’t understand.” He glanced up at the fan, the blades sagging on the ends and covered in a fine sheen of dust. “You have a gorgeous suite at The Majestic. One with a closet five times bigger than this. And your own bathroom. And a second bedroom, with its own bathroom.”

  He folded his arms over his chest, blocked the exit to my room and pinned me with a stare. “Why stay here?”

  I spied my phone charger and went for it. He waited as I wrapped the cord into a coil and added it to my purse. I glanced at him and realized this conversation wasn’t going away. “This is my place. I have full control of it. I pay for it. You should understand why that’s important to me.”

  “You like the independence.”

  “Yes.”

  He grimaced, but dropped his arms, moving to my bag and lifting it off the bed. “You deserve better.”

  “You’re right.” I wasn’t talking about the room. I was talking about a covert night in San Diego since we couldn’t go out in public here. I was talking about losing my cell phone because the wrong person answered his. I was talking about us, and he headed down the hall with my bag, either missing the inference entirely or ignoring it.

  I flipped off the light and, like a good little mistress, followed him.

  “Wow.” I watched as the headlights flashed, the vehicle unlocking. “You shouldn’t have.”

  He laughed, opening the back and swinging my bag inside.

  “No, really. You shouldn’t have.”

  In the middle of my driveway, cozying up next to my car, sat a minivan. A Honda minivan. I walked up to it and glanced in the backseat, half-expecting to see a car seat strapped in. There wasn’t one, and I took a full tour around the van before glancing up at Dario.

  “What? I don’t seem like a minivan guy?” He reached forward, pressing a button on the key fob, both side doors engaging and sliding open. I laughed and raised my eyebrows as if impressed.

  “I can also close them. Watch.” He pushed another button. A loud beep sounded, the sort typically associated with a delivery truck backing up, and the side doors slid closed. He opened mine with a flourish, and I took a final look around, still expecting to see a limo tucked nearby, or a Range Rover, or his Rolls.

  Nothing. This was it. Dario Capece was driving me to San Diego in a… I glanced at the brand emblem before tossing my purse into the floorboard and stepping inside. A Honda Odyssey. I waited until he got in, then pulled my seatbelt across my chest.

  “No, you don’t seem like a minivan guy.”

  In fact, had odds been put on that fact, I would have bet every dollar in my bank account that Dario Capece would have shown up at my house in something overly extravagant, something designed to impress, something that matched the wealth that dripped off of him. Even now, his jeans shifting against the cloth seat, his hand pulling designer sunglasses into place, he looked expensive.

  He tossed the keys into a cupholder, and I noticed the rental tags on the ring.

  “You rented this?”

  “Yep.” He reached over, grabbing my hand and pressing a kiss on it.

  The man had a half dozen cars, easily. No need to rent anything, much less a mommy van with eight cupholders and a stain-proof interior. I took note of my suspicions and fastened my seatbelt as he pulled out of the driveway.

  Finding an aux cable, I plugged in my phone, scrolling through Spotify and starting a Clint Black song. He nodded in approval and I pulled off my sandals and propped my feet on the dash.

  We turned out of my neighborhood, and the minivan’s engine roared, moving into a higher gear as Dario sped up. I settled deeper into the seat and reached for his hand.

  DARIO

  She was driving him crazy. Bare feet up on the dash, soles arched as if they were in the air with him between her thighs.

  She didn’t even realize it. She was teasing the fuck out of him and clueless about it. The song changed, a drumbeat starting, and she began to bob her toes to the beat. He forced his eyes to the road and willed his dick to calm down.

  It was stupid of him to not fuck her. He was thinking of this as a woman would, thinking that sex would unlock some fountain of emotions between them. The problem was, there were already feelings between them. She was already his first thought when he woke up and his last before sleep. She had already eroded his self-control, his rules, and his boundaries.

  And she was already in danger. He’d seen the look that had crossed Robert Hawk’s face when he’d answered that call and heard her voice. Dario had felt the prickle of unease when he’d stepped out of the casino and into his car. He’d noticed, in subtle shifts and quickened speech patterns, the discomfort of his staff. Something was going on, and if anything happened to her, he’d burn the entire city to the ground.

  As a result, he’d gone rogue.

  Spending cash.

  Giving Bell a new, untraceable number to reach him at.

  He’d used a fucking taxi this morning, taken it to the airport, gone through the motions of getting a flight, then gotten a rental car and driven to Bell’s.

  Maybe he was being paranoid. It wasn’t the first time Robert had answered his phone and heard a female voice. And it wasn’t the first time, or even the tenth, that Dario had had a woman on the side. It wasn’t like Hawk could sense his love for Bell, and there was no reason for him to suspect anything. Still, every sensor in Dario’s body was blaring alarms at full volume. It was good that they were getting out of town. For at least a night, away from the city and Robert Hawk’s goons … she’d be safe. But at some point during this trip, he would have to tell her the truth—everything he’d bit his tongue on so far. And it wasn’t fair to sleep with her before that, not when those truths would likely end things between them.

  She turned in the seat, pulling her feet off the dash, and he let out a sigh, grateful for one less distraction.

  “I’m hungry. Mind if we stop somewhere?”

  He nodded and changed lanes, an exit approaching.

  THE TAIL

  The minivan changed lanes, and Claudia did the same, hiding behind a large semi. She watched until she saw the vehicle on the exit ramp, then followed suit as it turned right. When the van pulled into a gas station, she continued forward, turning into an adjacent fast food restaurant and parking. Watching the vehicle stop beside a pump, she picked up the phone and placed the call.

  “Yes?” Robert Hawk spoke quickly, the phone answered on the second ring.

  “They’re stopping for gas.”

  “Watch, but stay hidden. Call me if anything changes.”

  Easy enough. She nodded, ending the call and putting the car into park. Taking a moment, she stretched out her legs, the muscles sore from tailing Bell’s run, and glanced in the rearview mirror, the fast food sign bright and appealing. As if on cue, her stomach grumbled.

  She hadn’t had fast food in years. Her time in the warehouse had conditioned her stomach to the basic meals that servitude provided—cold subs delivered rarely enough to keep her hunger guessing. The subs were always leftovers from Hawk catering functions, some half-eaten, all delicious to their starved stomachs. Now, she eyed the Tex-Mex sign and remembered the last taco she’d had, over two years ago. It had been grabbed after work and choked down while driving home, a frosty soda gripped in one hand while she steered with her knees. She’d been so weak, back then. So focused on unimportant things like social media updates and fashion trends, TV shows and class schedules. She’d drowned her weekends in alcohol and distracted her boredom with sex. She’d had no idea of life until it had all been taken away from her.

  And that was what Robert tried to give them.

  The meaning of life.

  The value of living.

  The importance of submission and boundaries and respect.

  Too bad none of the others had un
derstood that, or listened to the whispered lessons she tried to pass on. They had all looked at her as if she was crazy, as if she was the one chained to a wall and they had all the answers.

  The minivan’s door opened, and Bell Hartley’s head popped up. The infamous Dario Capece glanced over his shoulder at her, the gas pump in hand. She shut the door and came around the car, still speaking to Dario as she walked away … and toward the taco joint, alone. Claudia reached into the passenger seat, found her phone and got three or four good pictures of Bell on her way toward the restaurant.