Page 22 of Devil's Iris

Okay. I suck in a breath and just go for it, fast, before I lose my nerve. “I need twenty–seven thousand. Could you loan it to me? I’ll pay it back—with interest, of course.”

Fred’s face goes through several expressions—shock, confusion, and something unreadable that vanishes before I can name it. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?” He doesn't yell, but his tone is incredulous and a little impatient.

I grimace, looking down.

“You don’t even have a job,” he continues. “How do you expect to repay that kind of money? And just how much do you think I make here? After mortgage, bills, and paying my staff, I’m lucky if I have three grand left. I can’t help you, Leni.”

I nod, swallowing past the lump forming in my throat. “Alright. Thank you.” My voice is small and defeated as I head for the door.

“Are you in trouble? What do you need that much money for?”

I glance back and force a weak smile. “I’m not in trouble.” I’m inhugetrouble. But there’s no point dragging him into this mess when he can’t help anyway.

I close the door gently behind me and walk towards my scooter, my chest tight with desperation.

Running away is looking more and more tempting.

Will Rick or his men hunt me down when the week is up? They did say I would have to work at their club as a stripper to repay them. The thought makes me shudder—not because I have anything against strippers, but because I know I would never be able to pay them back that way.

Loan sharks are called sharks for a reason. Because once they smell blood, they circle. And when they strike, they don’t stop. That means the interest will keep piling up while I work myself to death in their club.

I would rather jump into the East River.

The ride home feels like a funeral procession. Unfortunately, I don’t have anybody else I can reach out to for help. No family, no friends.

Pathetic.

Maybe I shouldn’t have been so quick to reject Carlo’s disgusting proposition. Maybe if I’d known this was coming, I would have swallowed my pride and let him paw at me for three days.

Three days with you warming my bed.

The memory makes my skin crawl, but desperation does funny things to your moral compass.

Then Romero’s face flashes in my mind—his rage when he yanked that door open, the way his fist connected with Carlo’s nose. Just remembering it makes my chest pinch.

A dark thought slithers in after it.I still have his business card.

If I’m going to sell my body to anybody, it might as well be to a man I’mactuallyattracted to.

I try to shake the idea away, but it digs in deeper, and the closer I get to home, the less insane it sounds.

In fact, by the time I park my scooter in front of our apartment and walk through the unhinged door, it’s starting to feel like genius. He’s rich. He could pay the whole forty thousand without even feeling it. Then all I’d need to worry about is finding a job so I can get our utilities turned back on.

Hell, maybe I could even ask for fifty.

Forty for the loan, ten to sort out the immediate bills. Just the thought makes my shoulders sag with imagined relief.

And really, what’s the most he’d want? Probably only a week? Two, tops.

A man like him wouldn’t want long-term commitment. At least not with someone like me. The elegant woman he was introduced to that night floats through my memory. Yeah, that’s more his usual type.

For some reason, that thought makes me resent him a little.

No, I’m not doing just a week or two. I’m not going to let him push me around.

If I’m going to do this, I might as well go all out.

My heart pounds faster as I strategize. I’ll ask for a year. A full year, not as a mistress, but as a wife,his wife.