Page 36 of No Longer Mine (Rags & Riches #2)

Chapter Thirty

Scarlett

Reality was— I hated how badly I wanted him.

I hated how much he’d gotten under my skin.

I hated even more how much I needed him to scratch the itch that had grown in significant size since we’d fought in this very bedroom months ago.

I hated that he was a part of the elitist society that had taken so much from me.

I hated that he had turned my perfectly controlled life right upside down into chaos.

But I didn’t hate how he tasted or how he felt when he finally slid his hand into my panties and felt how much I wanted him.

In fact, I was so lost to how he made me feel, I didn’t even realize it when he pulled my shirt down and began sucking on my breasts.

It wasn’t until the clinking of metal hitting the floor that I remembered everything I was fighting for, everything he was probably a part of.

The heat between us shattered in an instant. My breath still came in sharp, ragged bursts, my body still humming from his touch, but my mind? My mind was screaming.The flash drive lay between us like a ticking time bomb.

Dimitri’s gaze snapped to it and then back to me. His crystal blue eyes darkened, his entire posture shifting—from heat and hunger to something far more dangerous.

I yanked my shirt back up, my fingers trembling as I took a step back. He didn’t move. He didn’t reach for me, didn’t grab me like I half-expected him to. Instead, he bent down and plucked the drive from the floor with a quiet click of his fingers.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to meet his gaze.

For a long, drawn-out second, he didn’t say a word. Then, in a voice so low and cold it sent a shiver down my spine, he murmured, “What the fuck is this, Scarlett?”

The moment of reckless consuming lust was gone.

All I knew to do was run. I reached forward and grabbed the drive before I took off running like I had before, as if my life depended upon it.

I didn’t make it two steps before his hand shot out, fist gripping the back of my shirt like a noose tightening around my throat.

“No more running, Little Fox.”

I gasped as he yanked me back, spinning me around and slamming me against the wall with a force that stole the breath from my lungs. The flash drive burned in my grip, the one thing standing between me and whatever fate Dimitri Cristof decided for me in this moment.

His fingers curled around my wrist, squeezing—not painfully, but enough to let me know there was no getting away this time. Not without giving him what he wanted.

His lips parted, gaze darting between my clenched fingers and my face. There was no amusement now. No teasing. Just sharp and cutting anger.

“You think you can take from me?” His voice was like silk wrapped around a blade, soft but lethal. “Again?”

Of course, he would think it came from his home. Obviously, he would assume I stole from him again. But I couldn’t tell him what or where I got it from. Especially if he was working with his father and Gavin Crenshaw.

I tightened my grip on the drive, my heart slamming in my chest.

“I’m not letting you walk out that door with this.” He pressed in closer, his breath ghosting over my lips. “You have two options, Scarlett. You hand it over, or I take it.”

I swallowed hard. “I didn’t take it from you. I didn’t steal this from your home.”

“And I’m supposed to believe that?”

“At the moment, I don’t care what you believe. It doesn’t belong to you.”

“And it belongs to you? I told you no more stealing.”

I let out a laugh. It felt nervous to me, but sounded confident on the outside. I was too good at pretending. “I stole it before I got here, and you aren’t my father. If I want to steal, I’ll steal. There is nothing you can do to stop me.”

He gritted his teeth and looked away from my face.

I took the moment to play dirty. I jabbed my hand down and broke the grip he had on me before I punched him in the gut.

He doubled over, and I took the opportunity to try to flee again.

This time I was able to get out of his home, and I knew it was only because he let me.

I didn’t stop running until I was half a block away, my breath ragged, my pulse hammering. I forced myself to slow, to walk like I belonged on this street at this hour. To not look like a woman who had just bolted from a man who was dangerously close to owning every single part of her.

He let me go.

That fact gnawed at me, gnawed at the part of me that hated loose ends. That hated the unknown. Dimitri Cristof didn’t let things slip through his fingers.

So why the hell had he let me go?

The flash drive burned in my grip. I clenched my fingers around it, tucking it into my pocket like it was just some trinket instead of a live grenade that could blow up everything.

I needed to get back. I needed to talk to Oliver.

I hailed a cab, my body still humming with leftover adrenaline as I slid into the back seat. The driver barely spared me a glance, his tired eyes fixed on the road.

“Where to?”

I rattled off the address to the safe house, my voice steady despite the storm brewing in my chest.

Oliver was waiting for me when I got back to the safe house. He was pacing the carpet in front of the TV. When he spotted me coming through the front door, he immediately stopped and ran to me. “You went to see Cristof.”

“How did you know I would come here?”

“He would follow you to your own home. Plus, I’ve been here all night. I knew there was a chance you would come here after you were done at Crenshaw’s place.”

He pulled me into his arms; I inhaled the familiar scent of disinfectant and some cheap cologne he used.

It was comforting in its own way. I hugged him tight before I let go and threw my bag onto the counter.

The stacks of cash were still in there, as well as the few jewelry pieces I’d stolen.

The flash drive was still clenched tight in one of my fists.

I pried my fingers open and held out my open hand to Oliver. “This was in Gavin’s home. I thought it might help us.” I fished my phone out of my pocket and threw it onto the counter beside the bag. “I also have pictures of what he’s involved in. Trafficking.”

The entire night came rushing back to me, and before I knew it, I was shaking. My entire body was a trembling mess. He was involved in trafficking, and somehow I hadn’t ended up a victim.

Oliver’s expression shifted from relief to something much darker. His fingers wrapped around the flash drive, his grip firm like he could crush it between his knuckles if he tried. His jaw clenched, the muscle ticking.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, his voice too controlled. That was always the first sign Oliver was about to lose his shit—he got quiet, sharp.

I exhaled sharply, stepping back, needing distance. “I’m fine.”

Oliver gave me a look. The one that said he knew I was full of shit.

“Did he hurt you?”

The question was quiet but lethal, like he was already planning Dimitri Cristof’s imminent death.

“No,” I said, maybe too quickly. “He—he saw the drive, but he let me go.”

Oliver’s eyes narrowed. “Why the hell would he do that?”

I didn’t have an answer.

Oliver turned on his heel and stomped toward his laptop, already plugging the drive in, preparing to tear apart every single file inside it.

Oliver swore. “Its encryptions have encryptions. It’s going to take me hours to get into this, much less through it. Why don’t you go get some rest? I’ll wake you if I find something.”

I nodded my head, though I knew sleep was the last thing that would help me tonight.