Page 9 of Devious Truth (Vicious Sinners #3)

G ravity is the only reason I’m still standing in front of him at his point.

Everything he’s saying and not saying has woken up the sleeping beast inside of me. I put her to bed a long time ago, but a sly grin from him, coupled with his little innuendo, and she’s up and ready to party.

“I need to get back to work.” The words crumble like dust on my tongue.

He quirks his eyebrow. “I’ll see you tomorrow then. Seven.”

“I still haven’t said yes.” A small fact, I know, for him, but it’s the truth. I haven’t agreed to his insanity yet.

“You still haven’t said no.”

Putting on what I hope is a bland expression, I turn on my heel and march to the door. The sooner I get away from him, the easier it will be to breathe.

“Vivienne.” I stop with just one foot in the hall. “I’ll have a car ready for you at the end of your shift. He’ll be waiting in the employee lot.”

“I can get a ride with Caroline. We’re off at the same time.” I have no idea if that’s true or not, so it’s not an outright lie.

“He’ll be in a black SUV.” He bulldozes right over what I said.

“You don’t have to waste his time.”

“Getting you home safely isn’t a waste of time. He’ll be there.”

This entire encounter has me spiraling. I can’t think of a logical reason not to take the car ride home. Especially, since it sounds like I’ll be riding alone.

“Fine. Whatever.” I slam the door shut for some dramatic effect.

Childish, I know, but he’s left the rest of me in tatters with the way he looks as me and the things he says.

Maybe tomorrow night will be a good thing.

He can get this crazy notion that there’s any sort of thing between us out of his system.

Then maybe he can stop burning me alive with his constant hovering.

“Oh, there you are.” Caroline joins me as I reenter the club. “There’s a guy asking for you.”

“Who?”

“Don’t know. He’s waiting for you by the bar.” She tugs on my arm to get me to stop walking, excitement lighting her eyes. “What did Ivan want?”

I’m not sure I can say. He didn’t tell me it was a secret, but shouldn’t paying your employee to be your date be something you keep close to your chest?

Then again, he and his brothers run one of the most powerful crime syndicates in the city, my little threat of a sexual harassment suit must have been hilarious to him. Even if I did get an attorney to help me, the Volkovs would swat him away like some annoying fruit fly at a barbecue.

“It’s that good, huh?” Her shoulders drop. “You have to tell me.”

“He just wanted to let me know that one of his drivers is going to give me a ride home tonight,” I say, starting us walking again around the perimeter of the club.

“No, it’s something more. I can tell.” She pokes my arm as we near the bar. “That’s the guy.”

Kieran stands at the edge of the bar, sipping a pint of beer. His gaze catches mine, and he throws on a big smile. “There you are.”

Darren peeks up from where he’s making drinks. With a little shake of my head, I let him know it’s not a problem.

“Hey.” I greet him. “You didn’t tell me you’d be in here tonight.”

“Got a cancellation in my schedule at the last minute.” He leans his back against the bar edge, nudging another man out of his way. “Thought I’d come play some cards.”

“I don’t have a game for you, since you didn’t tell me you’d be here.”

His smile fades. “You keep saying things like they’re my problem when they are, in fact, yours.”

“Fine. I’ll see what I can do.” I leave him and head to the locker room where the guests for the private rooms are posted.

Scanning the list, I only see one group that might let an outsider join. Most of the men who take up the private rooms do so because they want to conduct business while having some fun.

These four guys have money to burn on a membership to Obsidian because their daddies have power and money.

They get together to drink themselves under the table while playing cards and making themselves feel important because they have a private room at a club that only the most elite even know exists.

I feel Kieran’s eyes follow me as I march through the club to the private room where the boys are playing, only to find the room is filled with the Santucci brothers instead.

They own a chain of mattress stores that spreads throughout the country.

It’s all a front of course, but in this club, that’s sort of the theme.

No one is who they appear to be on the surface.

I must have read the list wrong, or there was a change. Kieran can’t play with these guys.

Knowing him the little that I do, he’ll have a card stuffed up his sleeve. The Santucci brothers would see it as more than a slight, they’d want his head. Which would solve my Kieran problem, but while I might be on the cusp of selling my soul to the devil upstairs, I still possess one now.

“Hey, you don’t have leave.” A short man with less hair on his head than I have on my entire body, pulls my arm.

My heart skids to a stop. It’s Anthony Santucci, the oldest of the brothers, and the most likely to gut Kieran like a fish if he thinks he’s not on the up and up.

But, to use Kieran’s own mantra…that’s his problem, not mine.

“I’m sorry, I was looking for another party. I must have the wrong room.” Anthony looks mildly irritated when I take my arm back.

“I gotta run, guys. Carlotta’s water just broke.” One of the guys I recognize as Frank Santucci snuffs out his cigar in the ashtray and grabs his suit jacket from the back of his chair. “Firstborn son. I can’t miss it. I can’t!”

The other guys congratulate him as though he’s managed some great feat by getting his wife pregnant—and with a boy no less.

An old memory sucks the breath from my chest. Derek had been so proud when we’d found out the baby I was carrying was a boy; he’d danced around congratulating himself. It had been a happy day against a dark backdrop. Things were looking up for us finally.

Only a few months later my world ended.

“Hey, hon. You okay?” Anthony rests his sweaty palm on my shoulder. “You look like you need to sit down.”

“What? No. I’m fine.” I force a small smile and clear my throat. “But it looks like your short a guy for your game?”

He glances at the poker table. “We could use a fourth, you want in?”

“No, sorry, I’m still on shift. But if you’re looking for another player, I might be able to find someone.” I take a small step out of the doorway, like it’s not really a big deal to me one way or the other.

Except it is. And I’m desperately praying this guy is open to taking money off a stranger.

His face is unreadable while he thinks it over. “You guys okay with an outsider joining?”

“Yeah. Whatever. With Frank gone, we gotta delay our little conversation anyway. Might as well. But get someone with deep pockets,” one of the other men already settled at the table says. “Lost my ass at the track yesterday, wouldn’t mind recouping my losses.”

“Oh, then I think I might have someone. He’s new around here and pretty desperate to sit at a high rolling table like yours.

” I tilt my head a little, leaning in toward Anthony.

“Poor guy, he’s lost at every table he’s played at but looks like he has the cash to burn.

You know the type, just wants to sit with the big boys. ”

I have no idea if what I’m saying even sounds remotely sly to anyone else. To myself, I sound like an idiot who is blowing this chance. If I’m not careful, Kieran and I both could lose our heads.

“Oh yeah?” Anthony rubs his chin, thinking it over. “I mean, a sucker’s born every day, right?”

“Yeah.” I giggle, hoping it sounds somewhat flirtatious.

Heaven help me, I even bat my eyelashes at him.

“All right, if you got someone, send them this way. Oh, and if you’re not our girl, can you find her too? We need some drinks and food in here.” He rubs his hand over his protruding belly. “Fucking hungry tonight.”

“Yes, of course.”

Hurrying through the lounge, I ignore my tables, much to their annoyance. This little errand for Kieran is going to cost me serious tips. Though, after tomorrow night, most of my debts will go away, and I’ll be able to breathe a little.

I don’t have time to unpack that whole situation. I’ll deal with it when I get home. Maybe when I look at the bills again it will help dissolve the lead ball in my stomach.

“Okay, room five. They’re playing poker.” I catch his gaze. “You can’t go in there and start winning right off the bat. You need to lose a few hands.”

“You think this is my first hustle?” He frowns.

“Did I hear you say room five? I’m in there with the Santuccis.” Caroline smiles as she butts up to me. “You need me to show you where it is?”

She winks at Kieran.

“Yeah, hun. Do that. This a high roller game, right?”

“The Santucci brothers? Yeah.” She hooks her arm through his and leads him away, explaining the high limit of their ante.

“You’re setting up poker games now?” Darren leans across the bar.

“Just someone needing a seat at a table,” I mutter, grabbing my empty tray from where I placed it earlier.

“If you say so.” But he arches an eyebrow.

“I do.” Tucking my tray under my arm, I leave him and his disapproving stare behind.

A throbbing ache has taken root in the base of my skull by the time my shift is over. Stress will do that. Having spent the evening trying to avoid thinking about Ivan’s proposition while at the same time keeping one eye on the Santucci game for problems, I’ve overloaded myself.

The car ride home is blissfully uneventful, though the quiet allows for thoughts I’ve been pushing to the sidelines to rush the field.

Fifty thousand dollars to go to a charity event with Ivan Volkov should be an easy decision. Easy money.

Except nothing is that easy with Ivan, and what he might expect from me on the date could be more than I’m willing to give.

When I get home, I pour a glass of orange juice and sit at the table, kicking off my ballet flats.

The stack of bills is in the same place as when Ivan invaded my privacy by going through them. I pick up a random credit card statement, staring down the five digit balance.

They’re not completely unmanageable. I mean when I add it all up, it’s a lot. But I’m not starving, and I have a place to live, a job. I can pay it all off. It’s going to take me another seven years, maybe ten, to do it, though, thanks to interest being a thing.

Whoever invented that was a real asshole.

I drop my head to the table, taking in a deep breath.

I’m safe.

I breathe in for a five count.

It’s just money.

I let out the breath for another five count.

When the familiar anger rises up over the balances, over losing Derek, our baby, my life, I take another deep breath and unclench my body in conscious increments.

It works, but it’s getting harder to push the anger away. Because it’s aimed somewhere new. I’d been stupid to put all my trust in him when it came to money. I can bear that responsibility, but he was my husband.

Shouldn’t I have been able to trust him?

Lifting my head, I find the bill at the bottom of the pile. It’s the highest balance of them all with a twenty nine percent interest rate. The charges on the account don’t show up on the bills anymore; they’re over three years old. And it was just the one charge.

One line item on a credit card I had to take out in order to bury my husband and my unborn baby boy.

And every month this bill shows up to remind me what I lost. It’s never ending, the pain of it. Sometimes I find myself putting my hand where my belly, once large and round, is flat and barren now.

If I can make this reminder disappear, shouldn’t I do it?

It’s one date.

And it’s not like Ivan isn’t insanely good looking, intelligent, and even funny when he’s not trying to intimidate the soul out of someone.

With a sigh, I dig out my phone.

I’m in. Tomorrow at seven.