Caught for Christmas (9 page)
“That guy’s been keeping you in here for two days. We’ve been waiting for the chance to get you out. Open the door, Bee. Whatever he’s told you, whatever he’s done to you, it doesn’t matter now.”
That’s where he’s wrong. West told me I was worth something—worth loving, worth risking everything for. And he backed it up with his actions. He’s been nothing but kind to me. That matters. It means the world to me.
“Bee.” A pause, and I can picture the crestfallen look on his face. So practiced. “We can be a family again.”
I should have stayed silent. I planned to, when I saw him at the door. It’s too much though. I whirl and face the door, imagining it’s him. The wood might as well be nothing, because I can see him—in that casual but concerned slouch he’s affected. The perfect con, even for his daughter.
“We were never a family,” I say to the door.
“Open up, Bee,” he says, and there’s a tremor in his voice this time. I could almost believe he’s emotional over me, except I know better. It took me eighteen years to see my father for what he is. So if he’s not having a heart-wrenching moment with his only child, what made his voice waver?
And then I have my answer. I hear scuffling from the other side. I look through the peephole in time to see Jeb being grabbed by large hands.
“You had your chance to convince her,” says a man big enough to block out the screen. He’s up close—and he’s holding a gun to Jeb’s head. They’re both distorted, the middle made large, as if I’m in a dream. A nightmare. “Come out, come out, little girl. Your daddy wants to see you.”
There’s a metallic taste in my mouth, and I realize I’ve bit my tongue.
I’ve never seen the man before in my life, but it’s clear from the confident way he handles the gun, and the bulk of his body, that he means business. God, he brought these people here. He brought them here to take me as payment for his debt. I’m sick with it. I’m furious.
And I can’t let Jeb die right in front of me.
Even though he brought this danger to my door. Even though he risks my life at every turn. I see my father for what he is now, but I still can’t let him die. Even if it makes me soft and weak and
a mark
—everything I’ve been taught to look down upon—this is who I am. Someone who will disarm the alarm and open the locks, trading my own life for his.
“Don’t hurt him,” I say softly, opening the door.
This is the opposite of
trading up
, giving myself in exchange for him. The opposite of what my mother would do. And that’s how I know it’s right.
The guy has a scar down the side of his face. It makes his smile look like a snarl. “Now why would I do that, little girl? I’ve got a bigger prize now.”
He pushes Jeb down, and he stumbles, looking older than I’ve ever seen him. A large hand grabs my arm, and he whirls me around.
West is standing at the edge of the hallway. Blue is behind him, along with a couple of other men from the security team. And farther back is Maisie, her eye blackened and her dress torn.
“Jeb,” she cries. Even now she only has eyes for him as he struggles to stand. The fact that there’s a gun to my temple doesn’t even seem to register.
It does to West though. He sends a look to the man holding me that feels like pure ice.
This is the warrior who fought overseas.
This is the killer.
I can’t let him get hurt for me. I
won’t
let him get hurt.
He would have charged us, would have been my knight in shining armor—and earned a bullet in the heart. I would have traded my life for my father’s and ended up dead.
We would have written our own tragedies.
I used to think I didn’t deserve a fairy-tale ending, but in this moment I realize they aren’t only for the princess. It doesn’t matter who our parents are, doesn’t matter whether we dance at a ball or strip onstage. All that matters is that we have the courage to reach for it.
And by God, I will not let West die in this hallway. I will not let them win. That’s the last coherent thought I have before I jam my elbow into the large stomach behind me. It’s mostly muscle and doesn’t get far, but it does startle the guy holding me enough to loosen his hold.
I turn in his grasp and knee his balls—that’s one benefit of working in a strip joint for so long. I know how to handle a man who’s getting handsy, even one who’s also holding a gun. He goes down, staggering into the wall.
The guy next to him tries to grab me, but he only gets one step closer before red blooms on his shirt and he staggers back. I curl myself into the door frame as shots boom through the corridor.
The silence rings so loud, it takes me a second to realize the shooting is over. All I can hear now is the groaning of men in pain—the ones that aren’t ominously still and silent.
Jeb is holding his arm and whimpering. There was a time I would have run to him.
Now I look away. He’s a stranger to me, worse than that.
A large body blocks my view, and I’m disappointed to find that it’s Blue. He guides me inside, but I fight him. I have to see West.
“He needs to do this,” Blue says solemnly. “You shouldn’t watch.”
“T
hree…two…one…”
I blink groggily at the large flat-screen TV while the distant sound of fireworks booms through the ground. West looks down at me with a soft, indulgent smile. “Happy New Year.”
My sleep schedule was messed up after working at the Grand every night and then abruptly stopping. Instead of staying up late, I’ve taken to falling asleep early. “I’m sorry,” I murmur. “I wanted to stay up with you.”
West kisses my nose. “You need rest.”
It’s been a couple of days since a man was killed outside the door of this loft. Self-defense, everyone assured the cops who came to take the body away. They kept the story short and sweet.
West made sure that Jeb left town—possibly with his fists—and Maisie went with him, of course. Empty handed. This is one time they didn’t
trade up.
I already know they’ll never come back.
I would never help them again, and there’s nothing worthwhile about a daughter you can’t con.
The first night, West took me into the shower with him, carefully washing me, checking my skin for any marks or bruises. He touched me so tenderly, as if I was made of glass. And maybe I was. It felt like I might shatter.
Although he was hard and slick, he didn’t have sex with me. Even when I touched him, he pushed my hand aside. He held me all night, his body tense and protective around mine.
Maybe we both needed a little time to recover, to heal.
It’s a new year now. A new beginning. And though I’m sleepy, I drape my leg over his and straddle him. His eyes immediately turn black. He’s been hard every time we’ve touched.
His face is drawn with intense arousal—but there’s worry too.
“I need this more,” I whisper.
He swallows audibly, and I know he’s fighting himself. A week ago he tied my wrists to a chair and pressed his lips between my legs. He treated me like a woman, and that’s what I need from him now.
I take his wrists in my hands and press them down on the cushions. Then I meet his gaze, a challenge arcing from me to him. He could overpower me in a second. If I hold him captive, it’s only because he wants me to.
Acceptance curves his lips.
Then I’m working at the placket of his jeans, opening the zipper and pulling him out. He’s already hard beyond anything I’d seen before. His cock stands straight up, straining for me. A bead of liquid shines at the tip. I lick it off.
He groans. “Baby.”
“I need you,” I murmur, lips moving against the soft crown. Then I take him deep, gratified by his pained groan. His legs shake beneath my palms. I don’t let up. The more he shudders, the more I suck. Out of the corner of my eyes, I see his hands tighten into fists against the cushion—but he doesn’t lift them. He doesn’t push my head down, and I appreciate that. But I also miss his touch, the way he would stroke my hair or caress me. I miss his tenderness. I even miss his control.
I pull back with a
pop
sound, and he grunts.
His voice is like gravel. “You’re killing me.”
That makes me grin. “Just returning the favor.”
He’s up in a flash, slipping a hand under my arms and lifting me into the air. I’m over his shoulder before I can blink, and I writhe, trying to break free, laughing. “Let me down.”
He slaps my ass. “I’m not letting you go, Bianca. You have a bad habit of running.”
Guilty as charged. I remember him pressing me against the brick wall in the alley. I remember his hands holding down my thighs as he brought me to ecstasy in the basement of the Grand. It feels like a lifetime ago—a lifetime without love, without hope. A whole lifetime without family. I couldn’t believe that he could really want me. I couldn’t believe that he would really stay.
He didn’t give up on me. And I have a lifetime to thank him.
He tosses me on his bed, and I bounce. He’s on me in a second, his legs between mine. His broad shoulders block the light, and I look up at him in shadow—this powerful, beautiful man.
Trade up.
I traded in everything, everything that I used to be, everything that I never wanted to be, for the most honorable man I’ve ever met. Ironic that the first time I ever follow my mother’s advice is when she’s left for good.
West may be physically stronger than me, but he’d never force me. He’d never hurt me.
Which is why he doesn’t fight when I turn the tables.
It’s the quick work of my leg hooked around his, taking him by surprise—and then he’s on his back on the bed. What can I say? My parents knew some unsavory people. I learned how to protect myself.
West huffs a laugh, sounding reluctantly impressed. “So that’s how it’s gonna be.”
“That’s exactly how it’s gonna be.” With a small flourish I pull out the package I’d hidden under the bed. It’s only wrapped in newspaper since I hadn’t had the chance to buy wrapping paper. I hold it out for him, feeling unaccountably shy.
His expression turns bemused as he accepts the small, padded square. Then he rips open the paper. First there’s tenderness as he fingers the soft, red rope. Then a dark awareness lights his eyes. “Is this for…?”
“Yes,” I say, taking the rope from his hands. And then I do more than tell him—I show him, binding his wrists with the stretchy, knitted rope. The red is vibrant against his dark brown skin, a vivid contrast of constrained power. He’s a contradiction—the Boy Scout and the warrior, the gentle lover and the fierce man who tied me to a chair.
He caught me in the basement of the Grand, and I’ve caught him right back.
The con of a lifetime.
Thank you for reading Caught for Christmas. I hope you loved West and Bianca’s story!
If you’re new to the Stripped series, meet Giovanni and Clara for free in the prequel novella
Tough Love
. Then read the scorching hot and darkly mysterious
Love the Way You Lie
with Kip and Honor.
Blue and Lola’s story is next—and as a bonus, this is where West is introduced! You can read their story in the novel
Better When It Hurts
and sexy follow up novella
Even Better
. Or get both books in
The Better Duet
bundle…
The darkest book in the Stripped series is
Pretty When You Cry
, Ivan and Candy’s book.
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If you loved West and Bianca, you’ll really enjoy the sexy and gritty Chicago Underground series. USA Today bestselling author Cari Quinn calls it a “must read.”
T
here’s a certain
sultry walk a woman has when she’s bare that can’t be faked. No hose and no panties. The nakedness under my skirt was as much about keeping me aroused as it was about easy access.
I’d perfected the art of fuck-me clothes. A surprising number of men asked me out, even at a grungy club on a Saturday night. Cute little college girl, they thought, out for a good time. I saved us all time by dressing my part.
Tonight’s ensemble consisted of a tight halter and short skirt with cheap, high-heeled sandals, bouncing hair, and bloodred toenails. The scornful looks of the other women didn’t escape me, but I wasn’t so different from them. I wanted to be desired, held, touched. The groping fingers might be a cheap imitation of intimacy, its patina cracked with rust and likely to turn my skin green, but they were all I deserved.
My gaze panned to the man at the bar, the one I’d been watching all night. He nursed a beer, his profile harsh against the fluid backdrop of writhing bodies. His gray T-shirt hung loose on his abs but snug around thick arms, covering part of his tattoo.