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Fueled by self-preservation and adrenaline, I combine the two tasks of pulling on my coat and walking backward toward the stairs. The room is a haze of amber, heat, and fear; everything blurry apart from the hammer and the large hand curled around its handle.
My heels hit the bottom step, but this time, no strong hand shoots out from the darkness to stop me from falling. When I land on my backside, the impact reverberates up my spine, sheer terror chasing after it.
Your sins will catch up with you eventually, Little P. They always do.
Raphael’s cousin’s parting words to me ring in my ears as black warmth ghosts over my chest. It’s a shadow, from which a steel claw, glossy watch face, and a citrine ring glint.
“Please,” I whisper into the darkness. The last time I said please with such desperation was when I was ten, in the alleyway behind the Visconti Grand Casino. It didn’t stop the hands coming down on me then, and it doesn’t now.
A rough palm with a soft touch comes down on my thigh. The silky fabric of my dress falls away at the deep split, and instantly, my stomach drops to my boots.
Has anyone ever touched what’s under that pretty little dress of yours?
Fear runs into fury, blazing hot and dangerous.
No.
But it all happens so fast. I grit my teeth, squeeze my eyes shut, and grip the four-leaf clover around my neck as the hammer comes down to the left of me.
Crack.
No pain. No broken bones. I pop a lid and look down at my side slit, and white-hot embarrassment immediately floods my bloodstream.
A black security tag. It lies in smashed, plastic shards next to my quivering thigh. I didn’t realize this dress had one, but of course it did. That’s why the fucking alarm went off as I left the store.
It takes me three long seconds to remember to breathe. I draw in a lungful of air, and when I slide my eyes up to meet Raphael’s, I let it out in an angry exhale.
Humor sparkles behind his gaze, like he’s just heard a joke and he’s looking right at the punchline. “You got lucky.”
“Yeah?” I snap back.
“Mm. Sometimes they put ink in those things.”
I glare at him. He’s a cool drink of water to my burning inferno. A calm, green sea to my shaking storm.
I fucking hate him.
Before I have the semblance to bite back, he sticks out a hand and hauls me to my feet. My legs are trembling from leftover adrenaline. Without breaking eye contact, he hands the hammer to the nearest guard and unbuckles his watch in one, swift motion.
He leans forward, just close enough to reach into the pocket of my coat, and slips the Breitling inside of it. It falls like a dead weight to the bottom.
“Look after it.” Something beautifully melancholic passes through his gaze, and despite my wanting to grab that hammer from his guard and crack him over the head with it, his expression echoes in the hollow chambers of my chest.
It’s gone in the bat of a dark eyelash, replaced by that ever-present amusement.
A sassy remark is out of my mouth before I can stop it. Despite having scored one of the highest paydays of my life, I hate feeling like a man has got one over on me. It must be a knee-jerk reaction to level the playing field.
“Want to play again?” I ask with all the nonchalance I can muster. “I kind of like the look of that ring on your finger.”
He smiles tightly. “I’d rather shit in my hands and clap.”
I’d laugh at his reference to my earlier crude remark, if I weren’t halfway to a heart attack. Yeah, I think I’ve pushed my luck to the limit tonight. A heavy beat passes, then he jerks his chin to the stairs behind me. “Go.”
A soft, simple command, and one I’m more than happy to submit to. I snatch up my belongings and jog up the stairs, trying to ignore the gaze burning the nape of my neck.
It feels like a lifetime ago that I stood in this entryway, hiding from a pissed-off store clerk. It’s crazy that I’d thought it’d be the most drama I’d encounter tonight.
The sour-faced guard watches me until I reach the door, then his gruff voice coasts over my shoulders. “You have no idea how lucky you are.”
I pause with my hand on the doorknob. Suddenly, the four-leaf clover around my neck weighs more than the six-figure timepiece in my pocket.
I huff out a bitter laugh.
“Trust me, it’s you who has no idea.”
