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“No! Christ, no. I don’t fucking do that kind of shit.”
“Gambling is illegal in the state of California.”
He cracked a small smile, as if he thought I was ridiculous. I was ridiculous. I was preaching to a guy who had actual heads rolling around his house. And guns. He had one peeking out of his jacket right now. And I’d seen the huge man downstairs he’d called ‘Tiny’ holding one.
“It is.”
“So, you’re a criminal.”
He sighed and leaned back, looking totally at ease. But his eyes were dark, staring at me with an expression I couldn’t name. It wasn’t cruelty. Not exactly.
But it wasn’t kindness, either.
“Yes, Evangeline, I am.”
“That club. You own it.”
“I own legitimate businesses. Many of them. We’ve moved away from some of the . . . less savory aspects of the business since my brother took over.”
I took another sip of the whiskey. I noticed that he was staring at my mouth. A shiver went through me that had nothing to do with fear.
It was desire.
What is wrong with you, Evie? You need to get out of here. You need to call your mother!
Yes, my mother would know what to do. But I wasn’t so sure she could help me. Even if Antonio let me call her. And why would he?
I was a witness to a murder after the fact, and he was the prime suspect.
“Have some more whiskey. Finish it.”
I did. I clutched the almost empty glass, staring at my knees. The tremors started again.
“Are you going to kill me?”
I couldn’t look at him. But I had to know. He didn’t answer right away.
“No.”
“Are you going to let me go?”
Another pause.
“No.”
I looked at him. I felt real fear at the look in his eyes. He looked like he felt sorry for me. But there was something else. A heat. A look of possessiveness.
“I’m sorry, Evangeline. I can’t let you go. I can’t ever let you go.”
Chapter 11
Antonio
She’s taking it well, all things considered, I thought to myself as I stared at the pretty little angel quietly freaking out in my living room. Her arms were wrapped around herself and she was trying to hide the trembles that shook her slender frame.
Well, slender in places, anyway. The girl was curvy where it counted. And I was a pig for even thinking about how luscious she looked while her life was falling apart.
What the hell was I going to do with a girl like her twenty-four seven? This wasn’t a typical gangster girlfriend. Those kinds of women were usually superficial bimbos or power-hungry sharks. This girl wasn’t going to be happy just playing dress-up in clothes and being a rich man’s plaything. Even if she did get over the whole decapitated head thing.
I definitely couldn’t let her out, and I definitely couldn’t do what I wanted to do with her. I wasn’t that cruel. I couldn’t take what I wanted if it hurt her.
What I wanted was her in my arms and in my bed. Now. I wanted her wrapped around me, draped in silk and lace, ready and waiting to please me at a moment’s notice.
Keeping her, I had no choice. But forcing her to be my woman? I wasn’t going to do that. Not yet. I would try and convince her that I wasn’t a monster first.
It hadn’t occurred to her yet, but it had occurred to me. My first thought had been that I had an excuse to marry her now. Not a reason. A goddamn excuse to do what I wanted to do anyway.
A wife couldn’t be forced to testify against her husband.
And fuck, it was the perfect excuse. Maybe Mrs. Parker had done me a favor. I shook my head. I had to call Mikey. Hell, he might be in Vince’s office right now. I’d completely spaced out on what to do about the lady my brother was now working his considerable charm on.
The wife we could handle. Pacify. Help her and the kids get a start someplace new, just like we’d planned.
But Miss Evangeline? I doubted she was going to be as docile as she looked. She was smart. Too smart to be a pushover, no matter how helpless or scared she was.
“Do you need anything? Clothes? Medication?”
She shook her head dully.
“I need to go to class.”
She wasn’t thinking clearly. She was in shock. My heart twisted at what she must be feeling right now.
Her perfect little world had shattered and it was all my fault.
“It’s Friday. You already missed class.”
She wouldn’t be going to class again anyway, so it was a moot point. She had to be kept under lock and key until we knew we could trust her, which was pretty much forever. But I didn’t need to tell her that just yet.
I had a feeling it wouldn’t go over too well.
