Web of Lies

by Elizabeth Knox

  This is also my last job. After I bleed Mr Black dry, I’m done. I’m out. Sebastian isn’t happy about my early retirement, but he hasn’t tried to stop me either. He only asked that I do this one last job before I leave. One job. It was worth it to keep the peace with my soon-to-be-former employer. I may only be twenty-nine, but I’ve worked this scam since I was seventeen. It’s getting old. Plus, it’s getting riskier. I don’t want to spend the rest of my days locked up in a prison cell because I got cocky. Best to get out while the going is still good.

  Dante catches my eye and stares at me a beat, just drinking me in. He does this a lot, just watches me. It scares me how consumed he became with me and how fast. While I’m an attractive woman— I’m not so self-effacing I can’t admit this— Dante seems different from the other men I’ve been with. I don’t think he’s ever been told no once in his life. Don’t get me wrong, men have always fallen hard for me, but with Dante, it’s different. I can see it in his eyes. He wants to keep me tethered to him, a bird in a gilded cage, and part of me wants that with him. I feel something I’ve never felt before with Dante. I feel loved. I know what we have isn’t that at all, but my body doesn’t care.

  He’s going to be crushed when I walk out of his life without a second glance, and for the first time ever I fear the repercussions of what I’m doing— and not just from the law. I fear Dante himself. I don’t think he’s going to let me walk away, not like the others did.

  I push this thought aside. I have to keep my eyes on the prize, focus on the bigger picture— getting the job done.

  Dante excuses himself from the group of suited men and gowned women he’s talking to, and strolls over to me. His walk is the confident gait of a man who is used to having the world laid down at his feet. And he is. Dante Black is successful in every element of his life. I’m sure he thinks he’s finally conquered the love side, as well, but I’m about to tear a hole in him a mile wide.

  As he comes closer, I see his eyes soften, and as soon as he’s close enough to touch me, the hardness leaves the planes of his face as his hand slides against my cheek to cup my face. I nuzzle into his touch, not sure if I’m playing the role or not anymore.

  “You looked lonely over here,” he says quietly in his deep voice that makes the apex between my legs pulse with anticipation. It scares me that it does. I’ve never felt anything for any of the marks I’ve stolen from. Cold? Maybe, but it’s also a fact. They were paychecks, nothing more. Dante is different. Dante is starting to worm under my skin.

  Too bad I’m about to ruin his life.

  “I was just taking a moment to collect myself before heading back into the fray.” I smile as I say the words, taking some of the sting out of them.

  This makes Dante laugh a little as he glances around the hall. It’s vast, the ceiling vaulted with beautiful hand-painted decals on the arched dome, which gives it a Sistine Chapel feel. I suspect that’s the intention anyway. The rest of the room is marble columns and gold gilding. The walls are a pale cream that makes all these touches stand out. It’s opulent, more opulent than I’m used to, even after living with Dante for these past few months.

  His nose going to the dip between my ear and throat has me freezing before I tilt slightly to give him better access. To outsiders, our relationship looks like the stuff of dreams.

  Here, now, it’s a nightmare built on a foundation of lies.

  The webs I’ve weaved in the past have never been so complex. Then again, I’ve never been infatuated with a client before. Dante is the first man I’m going to regret stealing from.

  “We can get out of here, if you want to.” His mouth moves to my ear and a shiver runs up my spine. “I can’t wait to get you out of that naughty little dress, Cara.”

  Cara doesn’t exist. She’s a character in this play I’m orchestrating, but I play her part perfectly. Part of me longs to have my real name on his lips, but I push any imaginings we can be more ruthlessly aside. He’s a job, nothing more.

  “Now, there’s an offer I can’t refuse.” Leaving now serves my own needs. It puts me one step closer to finishing this job faster, which is what I need to happen desperately. Getting emotionally close to a mark is dangerous.

  “And I hope you won’t,” he says as his mouth presses to the column of my throat. When he moves away, I can feel his reluctance. I’m reluctant too. I want him to continue kissing me, but he doesn’t. He takes my hand and he leads me across the room, stopping here and there to say goodbye to people before we leave the gala.

  The only thought rolling through my head is ‘showtime’.

  Chapter Two

  Annabel

  Two days later . . .

  I leave London, heading north and then doubling back on myself to end up in a small place with a population barely in the four digits. It’s off the grid and nowhere close to where I left Dante Black, which is part of the reason I chose it.

  Thinking about Dante makes my stomach roil. I’ve never had guilt about what I do. The men I’ve tricked in the past were mostly braggarts and wankers. Dante was different. He seemed to like me and if I’m being honest, I felt something for him too. He treated me well, far better than I had any right to be treated, and far better than anyone has ever treated me in twenty-nine years. If he’d known my plans, I’m sure that wouldn’t have been the case.

  So, walking away from Dante was harder than it should have been. I don’t want to read too much into why that was, but it didn’t feel right taking his money. Usually, I don’t bat an eyelid, but this feels like a betrayal. I don’t know why. I don’t owe him anything. He’s no different from the other marks I’ve stolen from, but this seems wrong.

  I try not to think about Dante and push my guilt aside. This was my last job. No more stealing, no more running. I plan on picking up my cut from Sebastian and getting on the first plane anywhere that has a beach and no extradition laws.

  There’s only one problem— Sebastian has gone to ground.

  I can’t get hold of him. I’m not too worried, not yet. Bastian is often out of communication, but even so, unease tingles through me. Where is he? And why is he suddenly unreachable? I pride myself on my perception skills, they’ve kept me off the radar of the law for this long, and right now all my instincts are on high alert. Something is going on, and I just hope like hell Bastian hasn’t done the dirty on me. If he has I’m not sure what I’ll do. I’m usually the deceiver, not the deceived.

  Bastian is pushed out of my mind as I catch my reflection in the mirror over the sink. The face that stares back at me doesn’t look like me. I’ve ditched the blonde hair for a dark almost black tone. I should have cut it as well, but I’m loathe to lose my length— especially when I’m leaving town as soon as I have the money from Bastian. I’ve already collected my documents from my lockbox, so I have a new passport, a social security number, and everything I need to disappear, as well as a new name. I’m no longer Annabel Murphy or Cara Ellsworth, but Sarah Jacobs. I’m not sure who Sarah Jacobs is yet, but I have time to figure out my cover story and background.

  I glance at my phone sitting on the shelf over the sink and unease ripples through me once more when I see there are no notifications. I expected a call or a message by now. He’s never left it this long to reach out.

  Where the fuck is Sebastian?

  He should have called by now with a location to meet.

  Something isn’t right, I know it, but I push down my paranoia. Bastian would never betray me . . . would he?

  The shoe sitting on the other foot doesn’t feel pleasant.

  Exhausted, I snag my phone, shoving it in my jeans pocket, and step into the main room of the small motel room I’m staying in. There’s a queen-sized bed sitting in the middle of the floor. It’s the only furniture besides a couple of bedside tables and a dresser. The wallpaper is old and stained in places, peeling away from the plaster in others. There’s a dark blue carpet on the floor that looks well-worn, although I’m sure when it was first laid
it was quality shag.

  Utilitarian is a word that applies here. Sparse would be another.

  But it was cheap, off the grid, and didn’t require ID to check-in. I wasn’t going to quibble over the amenities. My main concern is the cheap crappy lock on the door. It doesn’t look like it would hold if someone wants entry. Then again, if someone wants inside, even the best lock won’t be a deterrent. Most locks can be picked by someone with skill.

  I lay down on the bed, still clothed and stare at the ceiling. I shouldn’t sleep, but my eyes are gritty and I figure I should rest while I can. Who knows what lies ahead?

  So, I let my eyes drift shut.

  A noise catches my attention. It pulls me out of sleep immediately and I sit up so fast it makes my head spin. When you live outside the law, you learn to keep your wits and right now all my instincts are screaming at me that something is seriously wrong.

  The room is clear, though. I’m alone in the dark, peering into the shadows. Is someone waiting for me? I strain, trying to listen, but nothing moves.

  Maybe I was dreaming.

  Then I hear it— a soft scuffling at the door. Someone is picking the bloody lock.

  Fuck.

  I twist on the bed and reach for the underside of the mattress. There’s a .45mm handgun stashed under the corner. I’m not a good shooter, but right now, it’s not about precision; it’s about protection.

  I don’t even manage to get a finger to the edge of the bed when the door swings open. Fear claws at me as I twist to see who it is.

  All I glimpse is a massive figure before it’s bearing down on me.

  I squeal as the weight pushes me into the mattress and scrabble to reach for the gun. I can’t move, though. I feel like I have a block of cement sitting on my back, pushing my face into the covers. I can hardly breathe around the bulk straddling my hips.

  I’m screwed.

  I start to scream, but a hand clamps over my mouth and the force on my chest becomes unbearable as he leans forward, pushing my body deeper into the mattress, and hisses in my ear, “Got you.”

  The beat of my heart stutters at the familiar voice and ice fills my veins.

  “Where are you running to, darlin’?” he demands.

  I would answer him, but I can’t draw in air, let alone speak. It doesn’t matter. He’s clearly not seeking an answer because he says almost immediately, “You thought you were smarter than me, didn’t you, little bird? But you’re not. You’ve got to know me over the past few months. You should know by now that Dante Black is always one step ahead of the game.”

  And he really is, because I had no idea he was on to me. None whatsoever. In all the games I’ve played, all the tricks I’ve pulled, I’ve never been so far off my mark. I’ve never been tricked either, but here we are. Dante is sitting on my back, and when I feel the cold press of steel to my temple, I’m sure I’m fucked.

  Chapter Three

  Dante

  Cara— or whatever her name really is— freezes under me and I feel a hint of satisfaction. She should be afraid. If she were a man, she’d be dead already. In fact, if she were any other woman, I would have buried her six feet under, no questions asked, no explanations given. I have no idea why I haven’t. I have no idea why I let things play out as I have, or let things go this far.

  I roll her onto her back, careful to keep her under me, and stare into her eyes, eyes that glare defiantly back at me. I feel a hint of anger break through my carefully crafted control. She should be apologetic, considering what she’s done. My hand shakes a little as I press the gun against her head and I watch her expression turn to steel. She’s good at hiding her emotions, but she’s not as good as she thinks. If I had been anyone else, I might have fallen for her act, but I’ve learned to be careful. It’s the only reason I’ve lived to see my thirty-second birthday.

  “Dante . . .” She whispers my name and as always, I feel myself reacting to my name on her plump, kissable lips. I hate that I do, but I’m only human.

  Fuck, is it possible to lust after someone with one breath and hate them with the next? Cara is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. I guess this is why she’s so successful at stealing from men who think only with their dicks. Luckily, I’m more savvy than to be taken in by a pretty face.

  My anger flares back to life and I press the muzzle of the gun harder against her head.

  “What’s your name?” I demand.

  “Cara—”

  “Don’t fucking lie to me.”

  I watch her throat bobbing as she traces her tongue as it swipes out to lick over her bottom lip.

  “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

  “I want you to explain why you tried to move half a million pounds out of my bank accounts around the same time you pulled a disappearing act, too.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “I knew you were up to something from the moment you first spoke to me.”

  Her jaw works and I see her emotions building behind the steel shutters she’s pulled down. “Then why did you play the game?”

  “I wasn’t sure what you were up to,” I admit. “I wanted to see where the threat was. Keep your friends close and enemies closer . . . isn’t that the phrase?” My jaw tightens. “I hoped I was wrong about you, but I wasn’t. Where’s the money, Cara?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know or you won’t tell me?”

  “Both,” she says, which has my frustration mounting.

  “How did you steal it? My accounts are secure.”

  I watch as her mouth pulls into the semblance of a smile. “Nothing is secure in this day and age. It wasn’t hard. In fact, it was embarrassingly easy.”

  Her words have my finger twitching over the trigger.

  “Was anything real?” I can’t help but ask the question. I shouldn’t care. I knew she was playing me from the start, but part of me hoped it wasn’t the case. Why? Because part of me wanted her. I don’t know what I feel now.

  She lets out a breath. “Why do you care? You have more money than you know what to do with. Losing half a million won’t break the bank.”

  The audacity . . .

  I want to pull the gun from her temple and wrap my hands around her neck, but I refrain.

  “You took what’s mine. It could have been ten pounds or a million pounds and the outcome would have been the same— me, here, with a gun to your head. Did you really think I would let you go after this? That I would let it stand?”

  “Why wouldn’t you?”

  “Because it’s not in my interest to look weak, darlin’.”

  “So, what do we do here, Dante? Are you going to splatter my brains all over the bed and drop my body into a shallow grave?”

  “That would do for a start.”

  Cara flinches slightly and I realise she didn’t expect such candour from me.

  “You’re not going to hurt me,” she denies, but she’s stupid if she believes that. I will absolutely hurt her without qualm. No one steals from Dante Black.

  I stare at her a beat. “You have no idea who I really am, do you?”

  “You’re Dante Black.”

  A small laugh escapes my mouth. “Let me clue you in, sweetheart, since you clearly didn’t do your homework. My name is Dante Black, that’s what I go by, but my family name is Escarlo.”

  She blanches, all the colour draining from her makeup-free face. I prefer this look to the one she usually wore around me. Cara was always made up like a doll.

  “I see that means something to you,” I continue. And it should. The Escarlos run most of London’s underground. My family are well-known for their ruthlessness.

  “You’re not an Escarlo. If you were, you would carry the name with pride.”

  How little she knows . . .

  “I do, outside the business world. I didn’t find my name helpful in dealing with men in suits. They’re annoyingly twitchy about me, so I use a pseudonym.”

  For the first time
, I see the façade break and fear crosses her face. It’s only present for a split second before she regains her control.

  “It wasn’t personal,” she says finally.

  “You stole from me. It feels pretty fucking personal.”

  “If I'd known who you are—”

  “What?” I interrupt her. “You wouldn't have done it?”

  I watch as her perfectly bowed lips pull into a smile and I try to ignore the twitch in my jeans.

  “Oh no, I still would have done it, Dante, but I'd have done it a lot more carefully. You see, I’m driven by need and you were just a means to an end. Like I said, it wasn’t personal.”

  “What do you mean, a means to an end?”

  “One more job. That was all I had left to do and then I was out. I should be sipping martinis on the beach right now. The fact I’m not and the fact I was sent to rob a member of London’s most notorious family tells me one thing: we both have been set up.”

  “I wasn’t set up. You fucked me over.”

  A wince ripples across her face. “I did, but I think you have a bigger problem here than my transgressions.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Why my boss targeted you in the first place. He’s not an idiot. He does his research, and unless you’re going out of the way to hide your name, then I’m guessing a little digging would have told him who you are. The fact he still pushed me into a job almost everyone else on the planet would have avoided like the plague makes me question his motives. Especially considering he would have known what you’d do to me if I were caught. And I don’t know about you, but I don’t like mysteries.”