Page 25 of Heist in Paradise

“It doesn’t mean what you think,” he said, and I wished he would tell me what I was thinking, why I was panicking. “Come on, princess. You grew up in this world. Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a playroom before.”

“Do you have one?” I wasn’t sure where that came from. I wanted to stuff the question back into my mouth.

It was hard to tell because of the red light, but I could’ve sworn his cheeks pinkened. His fingers, however, remained unwavering. “No,” he said. “But there’s no shame in it. It doesn’t mean he kidnapped your sister and brought her here.”

I recoiled like a slap. He’d put words to the tight pressure in my chest. I was thinking about Molly, imagining her on the stage, forced to perform against her will. Then I looked at Jax and considered what he said. No shame.

“It’s just a playroom,” I repeated quietly, needing to give truth to the words. Meaning. “He’s just a nice, normal sex deviant who wants to be paddled.”

“Exactly.” Jax’s teeth flashed red. He stepped back and glanced at Madoc, who was examining the whips with a curious tilt of his head. Jax looked away jerkily. There was definitely color on his face now.

Interesting.

“We’ll sweep the room,” Jax said, back to business. He gave me a considering look. “You can wait outside if you want.”

But I didn’t want that. Not anymore. The panic was ebbing away, replaced by a new curiosity. I pushed past him and beelined straight for the stage and the wall-length mirror behind it. My reflection was demonic in the red light, but I could see how it could be appealing. It sharpened my edges, highlighted my cheekbones and lips, and deepened the natural copper in my hair. My white linen shirt turned pink and nearly transparent on my frame. I could see the outline of my underwear, the slight swell of my lower belly, and the cradle of my rib cage above my hips.

Behind my reflection, I saw Jax watching me. Madoc was lurking at the bar, messing around with the bottles before ducking out of sight. I became overly aware of them in the room, this room, full of sex toys and stale desire.

On a whim, I stepped up onto the platform. I didn’t touch the pole (who knew how often it was wiped down), but I circled it slowly, feeling a strange sense of power overcome me. I’d never considered stripping, and evidently, I was way too sheltered to ever dabble in the bedroom. But I could see it suddenly. The flashing lights and body glitter and thumping music. I eyed the pole consideringly—I had the core strength to work it, thanks to my cheer regimes.

Madoc popped up suddenly behind the bar like a jump scare, and I was wrenched out of my daydream. Our eyes locked, and Madoc’s widened just slightly. It was the most expressive I’d seen him so far, and it was gone so quickly that I thought I had imagined it.

Jax stepped toward me with a hungry expression. He didn’t even try to pretend he wasn’t eyefucking me to death. I flashed hot all over, that same tingly power turning my brain to mush.

“Go on then,” Jax goaded. His pupils were blown wide.

Insecurity and a little bit of fear stopped me in my tracks. “I already said you can’t buy me.”

“I’m not about to start flinging singles.” He approached the stage at a saunter. My heart thumped with renewed fear. “We both know you don’t have what it takes.”

I knew what he was doing, and I wouldn’t buckle. I wouldn’t play his game.

“Guess not.”

He didn’t look surprised, or even that disappointed, which bothered me. “Get down, then. It’s just mean.”

“You’re mean.” It was a childish retort, and I wasn’t proud of it. Mulishly, I shuffled to the edge. By then, he’d reached me, and instead of stopping, his boots thunked hard into the stage and made me stumble. I gripped the pole for balance.

Ew, ew, ew.

“Asshole,” I spat at him.

“Priss,” he shot back.

Then his hands snapped out and grabbed my waist, lifting me to the floor. I was used to being flung around, thrown into the air, tossed and tumbled, but it had never made my stomach swoop so violently.

It never made my toes tingle.

“There’s nothing here,” he said, smirking at whatever dumb expression I failed to hide. “Scooby?”

I heard no reply, but Jax’s face suddenly darkened. “You did what?”

Madoc prowled toward us, his expression blank as always, even though I knew he was also listening to whatever was happening over their communications. When he neared, I swallowed my anger enough to ask: “Who is Scooby?”

Madoc waited a beat, then turned toward me, his own eyes like pitiless black holes. He belonged in the shadows, but he was downright sinful in the red light. “Guess,” he smirked.

The anger surged up like word vomit. “God, can’t you just—”