I’m definitely getting rid of that stupid thumb drive he gave me. All this time, I held onto it. He came back for a piece of technology, not me. I’m surprisingly hurt by that. Idiot that I am.
At the register, I check his tab just to see what he ordered. One of the other bartenders already closed it out. Rafail ordered a vodka martini.
“Fucking hypocrite,” I mutter under my breath, thinking of the way he chided me for drinking at my sweet sixteen party. Granted, he’s of age and I was not. He’s still a prick, because he did it again tonight.
“Whoever your visitor is, he can come back any time,” the other girl bartending tonight tells me. “He tipped a hundred bucks on a twenty-dollar tab. Easy on the eyes, too, if you like ’em dangerous.”
That’s because he’s got mafia money,I don’t say.
We close the bar and lock up. A little before two-thirty AM, our male bartender and two barbacks walk me and the other girl to our cars. I reek of cut limes, orange garnish, and spilled beer. Can’t wait to go home and take a shower.
I half-expect to see Rafail in my rearview mirror. I can’t shake the nervous feeling I have about him showing up tonight. It’s been five years, though. There’s no reason for him to be interested in me, except for that silly fob thing he wants back.
I should give it to the Feds. Let my handler know I’ve been contacted by my ex-stepbrother.
But does it even count?
We barely knew one another back then, and he barely said anything to me tonight. I have the strange feeling that he was checking on me. Weirdly, that makes me feel a little safer. I don’t have any family left, and while he isn’t really family anymore,there was a time when he acted like a protective older brother. Sometimes. One who didn’t seem to like me very much.
Damn my hormones. He’s hotter than ever. My breasts are heavy and aching just thinking about him. His black shirt was unbuttoned at the throat and a couple of inches down his chest, revealing more tattoos and a lot of muscle. There’s a lethal, elegant grace about him that’s only gotten more noticeable since I last saw him. He would be, what, thirty or thirty-one, now? Around ten years older than me.
I am totally my mother’s daughter, with a weakness for bad boys. Unlike her, I won’t let it ruin my life, though. I have plans. I’m going to keep avoiding men, finish my degree, eventually, as soon as I can save up enough money to re-enroll in college…
The car’s engine light flicks on.
“Shit,” I mutter. Ten seconds later, a grinding sound fills the car. It loses power. “Goddamn motherfucking…” I keep up a steady stream of cursing as I guide the car into a parking lot, barely snagging the ticket in time to lift the gate as I keep rolling down an incline. At the bottom of the ramp, I pull sideways into two spots, taking up both, and kill the engine.
“Don’t die on me now, you piece of shit.” I try turning it on again, praying for a miracle. Obviously, I don’t get one. That is not how my life works.
Fine. Guess I’m walking home, at almost three in the morning, with two hundred dollars in cash tips in my purse. An ideal target for mugging. Or, I could spend money I don’t have calling an Uber. Or a tow truck. Never mind paying for repairs on this hunk of junk.
Fuck my life.
I slam out of the aged Honda Civic. I can try calling one of my roommates, but we’re not really what you’d call pals. I rent a room in a four-bedroom apartment. I keep to myself. It’s hard tomake friends when you’re living a fake life. Not that I was ever good at it anyway.
Headlights beam at the ceiling, then drop as a car comes down the ramp into the subterranean parking garage. I freeze. Should I run and hide? But why would I do that?
The answer—yes, idiot, you should have run—shrieks through my brain when a sleek black SUV with tinted windows pulls alongside my car.
Rafail steps out, unsmiling.
“Car trouble,printsesa?” he asks softly, but there’s a note of menace in his tone.
“Nothing I can’t handle,” I lie.
“I’ll give you a ride.” He jerks his head at the open door. It’s not an offer. It’s an order. One I have no intention of obeying.
“Thanks, but no thanks. I was just about to call a tow truck—hey!”
Quick as that night he grabbed Melanie’s throat, he rips the phone out of my hand and throws it on the ground. The screen shatters. He brings his heel down, smashing it further. My mouth opens and closes like a fish gasping for air.
“Get in the car, Hailey. Or should I call you Lila now?” he says.
I shake my head. Take one step back and bump into my own stalled car. It’s clear what’s happening, yet my mind can’t quite catch up.
I’m being kidnapped by the mafia. Getting into his SUV meansbad shit.
Yet this is Rafail, my overprotective ex-stepbrother.
