by Jasmin Quinn
“After that, I was careful never to be alone with Neil. Most of the time it worked. Not always. He never raped me again because there was never an opportunity. But he was mean, verbally and when we were alone, physically. Craig pushed me around a lot after that too – I went from being virtually ignored by him to becoming his punching bag.” She stopped, seeming to contemplate her next words. “If the rape hadn’t happened, I probably would have floated through high school, got pregnant and married. Would have three kids by now and be bitter and hateful.”
“What did you do, Isabelle?” Michael knew this wasn’t an easy retelling of her life, but he also didn’t want to spend the next six hours in a therapy session. He was never any good at talking people off a cliff. If they wanted to jump, who the fuck was he to stand in their way?
“I spent about three months in a state of self-pity, until Craig punched me in the eye. I lied to my mom about what happened, and she told me to be nicer to the other kids. That’s when I decided that being nice was for losers. I needed to find a way to defend myself and the only thing on offer in that shithole of a town was karate. Of course, I didn’t have any money, but since I didn’t have my virginity to lose and I already had a reputation, I made a deal with the instructor. An exchange. My body for the lessons.” She threw out a small derisive laugh as she leaned forward and picked up her croissant.
Michael watched as she tore a piece off with her fingers and slid it over her lips, chewing and swallowing. His emotions were so at odds with the story she was telling him. He was a little angry that she would use her body to get what she needed. But who was he to talk? And the simple act of chewing on the croissant made his groin tighten and his resolve slip. He wanted to take her in his arms and ravish her, make her feel the touch of a real man, make her come like she’s never came before.
But he held back, because it was wrong, he thought. She’s telling him about how men used her, and he’s thinking about having sex with her. That didn’t make him much better than the karate instructor, he mused. But it was just a thought, not a revelation.
“At least he didn’t reject me. And he was in pretty good shape. In the sack, it was all about him, in the karate studio, it was all about me.” She shifted on the couch, drawing her legs up and curling them to the side of her, tucking them up under her housecoat. “I got fitter, faster and more confident. He got to fuck me. It wasn’t romantic. Neither of us felt anything for each other. I had no expectations of him as a lover and he certainly met my lack of expectations.”
She shrugged, a far off look in her eyes, a small pained smile on her lips.
“I expect you got the wrong impression of sex then. Given the assholes in your life.” Michael felt he had to say something to her to show he understood what had happened to her. And he did in a way. Men could be selfish when it came to fucking. All of them, including himself. He tried not to be, tried to take his time and go slow, make sure his lovers were fully engaged. But sometimes he couldn’t be bothered. Sometimes it was just about the fucking for him. He didn’t say this to Isabelle though. Because she didn’t need to know that about him. And because with Isabelle it would matter.
Isabelle nodded. “Oh yeah. By the time I got my black belt, I fucking hated men. Which is why I felt no remorse when I beat the shit out of Craig and Neil. I pummeled them both, at the same time. They couldn’t walk when I was through with them.” She frowned. “I’d held onto that anger for two years, while I worked my ass off in school and at the karate studio. When I earned my black belt, my instructor and I had one last celebratory fuck. I think he was as glad to see the end of me as I was of him.”
Michael returned her small smile and took a swallow of his coffee. He found himself wishing for scotch but thought that it was too early and then decided to fuck with it. “Want some wine?” he asked Isabelle as he stood up and picked up their half-consumed breakfast plates.
“God, yes,” Isabelle responded gratefully, jumping to her feet and following Michael with the coffee cups. “But scotch please, I think.” She placed the mugs next to the discarded plates.
Michael picked up the scotch bottle and two cut-glass tumblers and brought them over to the coffee table, reseating himself and pouring a measure into each glass. “Straight up okay?” He glanced at Isabelle as she reseated herself.
“Yes, it’s fine.” She wrapped her fingers around the tumbler Michael offered her and took a mouthful. He watched as she swallowed it down, the bliss on her face, the bob of her throat, a flick of her tongue to the corner of her lips to catch an errant drop. He felt a dual twinge in his cock and his heart. This woman was perfection.
He shuttered his thoughts and settled back against the cushion, taking a small drink. “What happened next, Isabelle?”
“My mother bought me a one-way ticket out of town before the cops could arrest me. To Los Angeles of all places. I guess she thought that I could lose myself easier.”
Michael shook his head as he listened. What a stupid fucked up family. But who was he to talk? Their lives had a few parallels. “That’s a little buggered up, Isabelle. You couldn’t have been more than 15.”
“I know.” Isabelle took a small sip of her scotch. “But mom thought she was doing the right thing. And it worked out okay. I was still coasting on the high I got from beating up those assholes. And that gave me the strength to look after myself, to finish high school and put myself through college.”
“How’d you do that?” Michael thought he already knew. Lots of young women go to LA to become actresses and end up on the streets working for a pimp.
“I became a thief,” Isabelle said, a small note of pride in her voice.
He jerked his head slightly, not expecting that response. “A thief?”
“A very good one. At first, just petty stuff. Shoplifting and picking pockets. Enough to keep me off the streets. And then I got bolder, taking things of value, getting to know dealers to sell them to. Making enough money to get me into a private school so I didn’t need to maintain an apartment.”
“Were you ever caught?”
“Yeah, a few times. But I got very good very fast.”
That seemed to be as much of an answer to his question as he was going to get. Maybe he didn’t really want to know what she did to get out of trouble.
Isabelle continued, “I knew who and what to target. How to dress, down or up. I started doing jobs for the dealers, if they wanted something specific, I would get it for them. Then one of my favourite dealers wanted to do a big heist. He introduced me to this guy, Justin, who was a master thief, and we paired up for the job. It went so well under his guidance that after the heist, Justin took me under his wing.”
“And into his bed?”
Isabelle’s face clouded. “Yes. I was in college at the time and needed some serious money to cover costs. He took advantage of me, although at the time, I was soaking up the knowledge he was sharing. How to get past security systems, how to open safes, how to dress, speak, distract. We worked LA until I graduated from college and then we went to Vegas.”
Michael felt a rush of anger, but it seemed rooted in his heart, not his head. Was he actually jealous? He reached for the scotch bottle and said gruffly. “And that’s where you and Jack Creed crossed paths.”
Isabelle nodded and held her empty glass out so he could refill it. “Almost as soon as we arrived, Justin started talking about breaking up. After one last job, a big one, in a casino. He set me up and stupid me, I didn’t see it coming – I guess because I trusted the asshole. I never once thought to question his judgement or his motives. The casino belonged to Jack Creed. But that was just a name to me – I knew he had mob ties, but so did a lot of my marks. It didn’t put me off the job. The plan was to rip off the contents of his safe in his private quarters. Lots of cash and jewelry. Justin promised it would be enough to set me up for life. And I was happy to do this one last job. I was tired of Justin – by then I was better than him and it pissed him off. We were always bickering
.” Isabelle paused and chewed at her lower lip. Her eyes were focused on her hands, the amber liquid in the glass.
When she finally started speaking again, her voice was gauzy and lifeless. “I made it past all the security, all the alarms. It was too easy. Of course, it was too easy.” Her eyes flickered to Michael. “At the time I was so high on myself, so sure of my skills that I never once thought about why Jack Creed had such a lousy security set-up. I practically strolled into his office, had the safe open when he walked in with two big security guys on his heels.
“I thought I was dead.” She shivered. “He grabbed me by the hair and slammed me facedown on his desk, called me a fool for thinking he would be so lax. Where the fuck were my instincts? he practically shouted at me.”
She drew the corner of her mouth up into half-smile. “I was crying and begging him not to kill me. Fuck, I told him I’d do anything.” She rested her beautiful eyes on Michael and stole his breath away. “That was exactly the right thing to say.”
“Did he rape you?”
Isabelle trembled. “No, he took me,” she whispered. “That night.” She closed her eyes and rubbed her fingers against her temple as a few tears slipped from her eyes and ran down her cheeks. She swiped at them with the sleeve of her housecoat.
Michael made no move to comfort her.
“He said I was almost perfect. That he needed a wife as beautiful as me and a thief as charming and capable. That he would fuck the stupid out of me. We were married almost immediately. I was afraid to ask about Justin, thought maybe he was dead. But then I saw him in the casino. He was thriving. Paid out by Jack. I was bought and sold.” She flushed angrily.
Michael rubbed at his chin thoughtfully, irritated by the growth of his whiskers. She’d never had a decent relationship in her life. And she wouldn’t have one with him – he wasn’t boyfriend or husband material. But then again, she wasn’t really girlfriend or wife material. She was as inscrutable as he was. He would’ve never thought her a thief and a mob wife. He wouldn’t have imagined her beating someone nearly to death. She was like him only softer and more vulnerable. Their lives paralleled and now were intersecting. If there was such a thing as fate, maybe this was it. “Need another drink?”
Isabelle looked down at her empty glass, clutched tightly between her fingers. “No,” she said reluctantly. “As much as I’d like to, I don’t want to be drunk today.”
Michael nodded and placed his own empty glass on the table. “Tell me about life with Jack Creed. Tell me what I need to know.”
“He’s deadly and mean. Heartless. No hesitation in beating or killing someone. He has security with him all the time. He takes risks – mostly with the lives of those loyal to him. But he doesn’t hesitate to get his hands dirty either. I didn’t know all this about him at the start. He kept it well hidden from me. I didn’t even really know that he was mafia. I knew he had the ties, but not the level of involvement. Or maybe I did know, just didn’t want to face that truth.
“In some ways I was flattered that he wanted me, married me. He was rich beyond belief and handsome. I could have anything I wanted. Clothing, jewelry, cars. But he was cold, not interested in me as a woman but more as a possession. I was his secret weapon. He used me physically when he wanted to, and showed me off to his friends, just to look, not to touch.” She paused. “I guess I should be grateful for that.”
“Why did you leave him?”
Isabelle grimaced. “A job gone wrong. Jack killed a man in front of me – I fell completely apart.” She hesitated. “As soon as I had the chance, I ran. Moved around a bit, finally settled in Vancouver. It’s a good place to disappear.”
Michael watched as her eyes flicked away from his, just for a moment. She was leaving out details. He wanted to push her but decided not to. He already knew of Jack Creed. He could form his own conclusions. “It’s curious that Creed let you run – didn’t bring you back.”
“He didn’t know I was here.”
“Don’t be naive, Isabelle. He’s known where you’ve been since the day you left him. Guess he hasn’t needed you until now.”
Michael watched as Isabelle mulled over his words. He knew he was right. Isabelle was good at the con, but Jack was better. So was Michael. He watched as she trembled, then stood up from the sofa, undid her bathrobe and let it fall to her feet. Michael sucked in his breath. A silky ivory slip draped around her body, thin straps showing off her strong shapely shoulders and arms. The fabric clung to her firm round breasts and then draped languidly to her thighs, exposing her long, toned legs. Heat jolted through him and then settled at his cock, stoking it, hardening it. But anger also surged through him as he drank her in. That she would lump him in with all the other assholes in her life. That she would think he would use his power to take advantage of her.
“Isabelle, what the fuck are you doing?” He returned his gaze to her pale and vulnerable face.
“Isn’t this what you want Michael? I’m yours for as long as you want me.” Her voice was hinged with desperation.
Michael inhaled deeply, trying to steady his lust and his exasperation. It was going to be a day for the unexpected as he reached for her robe, picking it up off the floor as he stood. He placed it around her shoulders, closing it at the front so he couldn’t see that little barely-there slip, then pulled her to him. Holding her in his strong, secure embrace, he forced her head against his shoulder with his hand. He tried to soften his voice, tried to keep his irritation out of it. He wasn’t quite successful. “Isabelle, I do want you, you have no idea how much. But I don’t want you coming to my bed because you think that’s the only way I’ll help you. You don’t have to trade your body to get what you need from me.”
“I have nothing else to give. Nothing else you’d want,” she whispered, her warm breath stroking his bare chest.
“You’re not a whore, Isabelle. And I’m not a pimp. So stop with this bullshit.”
She sniffled, and he felt her wet tears on his skin. “I’m afraid Michael. I’m afraid Jack won’t follow through on his promise to give me a divorce. He’ll force me to go back with him. I can’t go back with him. I need you. I know I’m baggage. I know you don’t need me.” She pulled her head back and looked at him with sad, knowing eyes.
Michael lowered his face to hers, touching his lips to hers, softly at first and then more demanding. But he pulled back before he lost control. He touched a finger to her cheek, stroking it gently. He shifted his eyes from her face, looking forward, running his hand over his chin. Fuck, he needed to shave. “Isabelle, this conversation is getting far too serious. Let’s solve the Jack thing first and then we can sort out us. But I’m here to help. Do you understand? What happens after this is irrelevant. I won’t hand you back to your husband.”
Isabelle flushed as she stepped away from Michael. She kept her eyes lowered as she tucked her arms back into her bathrobe and cinched it at the waist. “Okay Michael,” she mumbled. “Thank you.” She started toward the bedroom.
“Wait Isabelle. One more thing,” Michael said, watching her as she halted her retreat.
She turned to him. “What?”
“What does Jack want from you? What will he ask for tonight?”
Isabelle touched her tongue to her upper lip as she thought. “He wants something that he can’t get on his own. He’ll want me to do a job for him.”
Michael nodded. It was what he’d expected. He hoped it would be that simple.
“I’m going to shower and change,” she told him, unmoving, almost as though she was waiting for his permission.
He nodded. “Once you’re done, we’ll get out of here.”
A grateful smile flitted over her lips and Michael had to stick his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching out and pulling her to him.
Chapter Eight
As Isabelle disappeared into the bedroom and closed the door behind her, Michael strolled to the table, picked up a strawberry and inspected it before crushing it between his teeth.
As he chewed, he reached for a fresh mug and the coffee pot, wishing it were the scotch bottle. But Isabelle was right, they needed to keep their wits about them. A soft rap at the hotel room door stilled his hand and he placed both the mug and the coffee pot gently back on the table. Who the fuck would be knocking at the door? He looked down at his bare chest, at the lack of holster and gun. Would he have enough time to grab them before whoever was knocking broke through the door.
Then he glanced at the time and gave himself a small internal kick. It was probably the cleaning service. He cursed as his eyes fell on the do not disturb sign hanging on the door handle. Again, he blamed Isabelle for throwing him off his game. Walking softly to the door, he peered through the peephole. It wasn’t the cleaning service. “For fuck’s sakes!” Michael said under his breath as he unlocked the door and yanked it open.
“Get in here!” he ordered the hulking bearded tattooed fuck who was standing in the doorframe, arms crossed, a broad smile on his face. Anto Kharzin dwarfed the suite as he sauntered in and peered around.
“Michael, good to see you.” His voice had a Russian inflection, not surprising given that Anto was Russian, born and raised. One crazy sonofabitch. Smart and capable, physically monstrous. Michael looked like a soft loaf of Wonder bread next to him. Anto was wild, undomesticated, untameable, and unpredictable. Tougher than a bull and just as fucking mean. Fortunately for Michael, Anto was his ally.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Anto?” Michael glared at him then glanced past him into the hall. “Were you followed?”
“I dunno. I didn’t check.” Anto’s cool eyes flicked over Michael, clearly critical of his undressed state, his lack of a firearm.
“You didn’t check?” Michael couldn’t keep the disbelief from his voice as he closed and locked the door.
Anto threw Michael a withering glance. “What do you think, Michael? I’ve gone undetected for three years; Savisin thinks I’m his best friend. I think I have this subterfuge shit worked out.”