Jaded, p.2
Jaded, page 2
But then, it’s just Locke and me.
He’s kept his distance all night, which is respectful, or maybe he’s uncomfortable? I’m not exactly used to either of those, so I decide to test the boundaries. I rest my hand near his on the bench as I turn my attention towards the glowing city skyline.
He doesn’t hesitate.
His fingers close around mine, warm and firm, as he tugs me closer, and his arm settles around me.
“Seb was right,” he murmurs, watching the fire. “I don’t usually invite guests out with us. But he’s always telling me to loosen up.” His eyes fall back to mine; his gaze is steady, and his dark lashes cast shadows over his sharp cheekbones.
The way my pulse skitters actually catches me by surprise. “And how are you feeling right now, Lochlan?”
For a moment, time seems to stand still, then he closes the short distance between us with a kiss, letting that be his answer. I pull back, breath caught in my throat, and whisper against his lips, “Do you have a room here?”
Locke’s fingers are firm against my wrist as he leads me through the halls of the hotel, moving with a kind of quiet confidence that makes my stomach tighten. The elevator dings open, and as soon as the doors close behind us, he turns, crowding me against the mirrored wall.
I press up onto my toes, brushing my lips against his, just enough to make him want to chase me. A flicker of something dark flashes in his eyes before he takes my jaw in his hand, tilting my chin up. Then he kisses me. Hard. Like he’s been holding back all night.
I feel him everywhere. His grip on my waist, the heat of his body, the way his other hand slides into my hair, tangling at the nape of my neck as he deepens the kiss. His tongue sweeps against mine, slow and controlled, like he has all the time in the world. Like he enjoys making me wait.
The elevator dings open again, and he pulls away just long enough to murmur, “This way.”
He walks with purpose, like a man used to being followed. And I do. The suite door unlocks with a wave of a keycard and a quick beep, and when he pushes it open, I barely have time to take in the space before my back hits the door.
But, fuck, it’s gorgeous.
Dim golden light spills from a chandelier hanging in the center of the room and reflects off a sleek bar and a mini-fridge stocked with top-shelf liquor. An electric fireplace flickers, casting soft shadows over the plush mid-century modern seating area and polished tile floors. I can make out the distant strip glowing against the night sky through the floor-to-ceiling windows on the opposite wall.
Classic aesthetic, modern luxury. It suits him.
His mouth is on my neck before I can say a word, teeth grazing the sensitive spot below my jaw, and a soft sound escapes before I can stop it. His chuckle is dark, almost smug, when he says, “Don’t hold back.”
I drag my nails over his suit, feeling the tension in his shoulders, the crisp fabric stretching to the max now. He presses closer, and I can feel just how much he’s enjoying this. “Maybe,” I murmur, my breath hitching as his hands slide up my thighs, “you should earn more.”
His lips part against my skin, exhaling as a wicked smile takes over his face. Then, he lifts me in one smooth motion. My hands grip his shoulders, fingers digging in as he carries me through the suite. Past the fireplace, the dining table I was already dreaming about bending over, and straight into the bedroom.
He lays me back on the mattress, lifting my dress and throwing it to the floor, but he doesn’t climb over me right away. He stands there for a moment, watching, letting the anticipation build between us.
When he finally leans in, his mouth trails down my sternum. He moves slowly, savoring every inch, and I arch up into him before I can even think about it.
“Impatient,” he whispers against me, his breath hot on my skin. “Relax. I don’t disappoint.”
His lips trail lower, and I can’t stop the shiver that rolls through me. My hands clutch his shoulders, breath hitching, pulse racing.
His eyes come back to mine, dark and unyielding, and that look tells me he knows exactly what he’s doing.
I let myself feel it all. The heat, the intensity of his gaze, the unmistakable pull.
But I haven’t forgotten why I’m really here.
I wake up with something warm and heavy against my chest. I open my eyes to see his tattooed arm trapping me beneath it. His breathing is slow and steady next to me. Deep enough that he might not stir if I’m careful.
Shit, what time is it?
It’s still dark, but dawn is creeping along the edges of the horizon outside the window. My pulse hammers in my ears as I test the weight on me, careful not to move too quickly. My leg feels like lead as I inch it over the side of the bed, toes finally brushing the cool tile.
I roll onto my side, sliding away just enough to get out from under him, muscles coiled with tension. Every breath, every tiny movement, risks waking him.
Sitting up, I let a soft exhale escape, staying as still as possible.
I let myself slip last night.
I glance down at Locke, still asleep. His arm is stretched lazily across the bed now. His breathing is deep and steady. The comforter drapes low around his hips, exposing more of his fully tattooed back than I need to see right now. Gorgeous and, thankfully, still oblivious.
It almost makes me feel bad for what I’m about to do. Almost.
I push that feeling aside and scan the room. Spotting yesterday’s dress on the floor, I tug it on quickly. On the dresser, I notice a few of his things, as if he’d emptied his pockets there before he went to bed. A watch, a tarnished gold chain with a cross attached that looks ancient, and a small folding knife.
The watch catches my attention first. It has a red silicone band and a chaotic face displaying exposed gears, with ticking hands and numbers printed directly on the glass. It looks more like something you’d get in a Happy Meal than at a high-end jeweler. But the brand name makes my heart skip a beat. Richard Mille. A watch worth more than most cars. Bingo.
I slip it into my bra along with the chain since I’m still in last night’s dress and, unfortunately, don’t have pockets. I palm the knife, just in case. Too easy. I didn’t even need to check the safe.
Shoes in hand, I exit the bedroom and move toward the suite’s exit, my bare feet silent against the tile. As I reach for the door handle, something catches my eye, stopping me dead. The entrance to another bedroom.
My body refuses to move an inch as I stare. Nate? Seb? Which one of them is in there? A flush creeps up my neck at the thought of what they might have heard last night.
I shake it off and carefully twist the handle, willing the hinges to stay silent as I slowly open the door. The moment I’m in the hallway, hearing the click of the door as it closes behind me, I run.
My heart pounds, but not from fear. It’s the rush. The thrill.
I slam the elevator button down, step inside, and press 1. The doors glide closed, sealing me off from the suite. From Locke. From last night.
I pause in front of the elevator mirror, smoothing my dress and attempting to finger-comb my hair into something more manageable. Then, I slip on my heels and straighten my posture as I prepare for my walk home.
My gaze travels downward, and I pull out the watch, just for a moment, to admire it. I can’t help but let a small smile creep across my lips.
Because this is what I do.
Chapter 3
LOCKE
Fuck. What was I thinking?
Inviting a girl here. Letting my guard down. And… she’s gone?
I reach for the other side of the bed, but all I feel are ice-cold sheets. Part of me expected her to still be asleep, wrapped up in the blankets. I even had my “I’m heading back to LA” excuse ready to go. Instead, all I’m left with is a faint trace of her perfume on the pillow.
A quiet laugh slips out of me.
She left first.
Bold. I’ll give her that.
I rub my eyes and sit up, noticing the sun high in the sky through the window. I overslept. Too much whiskey and the events of last night hit me harder than I thought.
I need a shower.
I step in, twisting the handle just enough to shock myself awake. The water needles down my skin; it clears the fog the whiskey left behind, but not the memory of her. Her nails making trails down my back, her mouth against mine, her arching into me.
Most women linger. Hoping for a second round, a breakfast invitation, some excuse to stay in my orbit a little longer. To take advantage of my status… or my wallet. That’s why I stopped trying. But her? She slipped out as if she had never even been here.
I turn off the water and step out, feeling marginally more awake. My ego should feel fine about this. Hell, I should be relieved. But something about it doesn’t sit right. No one has ever walked away from me first.
I quickly run a towel through my hair before knotting it around my waist as I turn toward the dresser. Still trying to wrap my mind around the audacity of this woman. My hand reaches for the watch I remember leaving here last night but brushes against smooth wood instead.
I shake my head. I really overdid it last night. The watch must be somewhere else. My eyes scan the room, snagging on every surface. The nightstand is empty, and so is the desk. Surely, I would have remembered putting it in the safe.
I blink, then blink again. My heart is hammering in my chest now. I left my cross right next to my watch last night, and my new knife. These aren’t things I would carelessly misplace. I know where I left them, and now they’re gone.
And so is she.
The realization creeps in, curling tight around my ribs, making it hard to breathe. She knew exactly what she was doing.
A low, humorless chuckle slips past my lips before I can stop it. I’m not angry. Not really. I’m actually kind of impressed. The sheer nerve she must possess to do this to someone like me.
The watch and knife are replaceable. The chain… that’s different. That’s a line she shouldn’t have crossed.
I should be pissed; any normal person probably would’ve called the cops by now. That thought doesn’t even cross my mind.
I drag a hand through my damp hair, letting my thoughts settle. Then I move toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, admiring the city stretching out beneath me and the beginnings of traffic in the morning haze.
Where did she go? The question gnaws at me, sinking in deeper with every second of silence. How far could she be by now? My jaw aches as my teeth clench together, and I pace alongside the massive windows. She thinks she slipped away. But no one slips away from me. At least, not for long.
That truth steadies me. I will find her. Because I don’t lose, I don’t get played. The tightness in my chest eases.
This isn’t over. Not even close.
And I will see her again.
Chapter 4
ARDEN
I never go home with stolen goods.
I’ve made it a rule: get rid of them as soon as possible. No holding, no second-guessing. Too much temptation, and I don’t bring my messes home.
So, as I walk out of the casino like just another girl who made a drunken mistake last night, I make a quick call.
“Hey, Milo. I’ve got something for you. Can I stop by?”
I’m at the pawn shop ten minutes later. This isn’t a pristine, well-lit, polished storefront. No, this is the kind of place you don’t walk into unless you know someone inside or you’re desperate. The kind that makes you wonder if you’ll make it out in one piece.
I push through the door, and the shop is dim, lit by a single buzzing and flickering fluorescent light overhead that casts everything in a sickly yellow glow. Shelves sag under the weight of old dusty trinkets and pawned junk that looks like it’s been sitting here since the ’90s. The linoleum floor is scuffed, sticky in places, and it smells like no one has opened a window in years. There’s a narrow hallway in the back, and I make my way through it, past more shelves full of crap no one’s even thinking of buying, until I reach the unmarked office door. This is where Milo does his real business. I push it open and step inside.
He’s at his desk, cigar in hand. A steaming mug of coffee sits next to a glass ashtray as he leans back in his chair with his feet on the desktop, like he owns the whole damn city. He’s in his fifties, if not older. His thinning gray hair is slicked back, and the fluorescent light catches on bulky gold rings as he lights a fresh cigar. A real old-school Italian motherfucker. I don’t ask questions, but if I had to guess, I’d say he definitely has mob ties. That’s nothing new in this town. He has to offload the goods somehow.
I set the watch and chain neatly on his desk. I keep the knife. It never hurts to have protection. Milo doesn’t react right away; he just leans forward, squinting at the watch like he wants to be sure it’s real. Then he picks it up, rolling it between his fingers, casual on the surface, but there’s a sharp glint in his eyes.
“Well, good morning to you, too.” His mouth twitches: half a grin, half a grimace. “You don’t usually drop this kind of shit in my lap.”
I smirk. “Should net enough zeros to make your head spin. The question is, will you have a buyer?”
He flips the watch once in his palm, and his thumb lingers on the bezel. “I move watches. Rolex, Patek, even Cartier if it ain’t too hot. But this?” He exhales a puff of cigar smoke through his nose. “This is oligarch shit. It’s beautiful… and it could be trouble. I’m willing to bet somebody important’s already looking for it.” He raises an eyebrow, waiting for my response.
I shrug. “So what? Call your guy.”
Milo’s snort echoes through the room. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. “My guy? He would shit himself seeing this on my desk. The kind of people who buy Richard fucking Mille don’t do back-alley deals. They got brokers. Lawyers. Insurance policies that are bigger than my entire operation.”
He exhales, tapping the ash from his cigar into the ashtray, his free fingers drumming against the desk as his eyes narrow. He’s thinking. I just wait. I already know the greedy bastard isn’t going to let me walk out of here with this.
Then finally, “I might know someone.”
I arch a brow. “Might?”
He waves me off. “A middleman. He won’t meet with you; he’s selective, but if anyone can move this thing quietly, it’s him.”
“Great. Call him. Let’s meet up today.”
Milo chuckles, low and humorless, rubbing a hand down his face like he already regrets this. “It’s not that easy. He’s got rules. You don’t just walk in with a stolen Richard Mille and walk out with cash.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Then how the hell is this going to work?”
He leans forward, his voice dropping slightly. “You let me hold on to it. I pass it up the chain. If he bites, you get paid. But it won’t be today.”
I hate this. Every instinct in my body tells me not to walk away empty-handed. I hold Milo’s gaze, my fingers curling into fists. “You know I don’t enjoy leaving with nothing.”
He shrugs, completely unbothered, taking another drag of his cigar. “And yet, here we are. You want top dollar? You’re gonna have to play it my way.”
I weigh my options. I could leave, find another fence, but who else has access to this kind of market? And right now, I’m more concerned about getting rid of this hunk of metal without getting jail time. I release a sharp exhale. “Fine. But if I smell bullshit, I’ll make sure you regret it.”
Milo grins, flashing a smile that is unnaturally white for someone with his habits. “Sweetheart, trust me, I don’t wanna fuck you over.” He sips his coffee. “I just wanna stay under the radar.”
I leave with no watch and no cash to show for it, unease trailing me out the door. Deals like this don’t sit well with me, but I’ll play it his way for now.
I can hear Lexi in the kitchen when I finally walk through the door of our condo. It’s nothing much, just an industrial-style loft downtown, with exposed ductwork, polished concrete floors, and quartz countertops. The faux-unfinished look almost reminds me of my mom’s apartment, except this is intentional. Nothing like the places Lexi and I grew up in.
When we first moved in, we spent weeks poking fun at the fact that anyone dared to market the spaces as ‘luxury’ condominiums. We quickly realized that our much wealthier neighbors get off on living a ‘modest’ lifestyle.
For us, it’s the perfect blend of the comforts of home, if you can call them that, and small luxuries we can finally afford. And it’s the only place where the noise and chaos of the outside world can’t seem to touch us.
The smells of bacon and coffee hit me first. Then the sound of a small voice, high-pitched and bubbling with excitement, drifts through the open space between the kitchen and living room and down the small entry hallway I’m walking through.
“Tía Arden! You’re home!” Zoe races toward me, her ashy blonde curls piled into two bouncy buns that spring with every step. Her fair skin catches the sunlight, and her wide, excited eyes stay locked on me as she launches herself into my arms.
“You’d think I haven’t seen you in a year!” I laugh, squeezing her close. “I missed you, too.”
Lexi hands me a mug of coffee, still steaming. Her bright orange hair is pulled into its usual messy bun on top of her head, and her amber-flecked green eyes are shining as her gaze drifts past me towards Zoe. “Hey, kiddo, movie time in your room. Adults need a minute,” she says with a grin.
As soon as Zoe is out of sight, she leans in, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Story time! What were you up to last night?” she says, wiggling her eyebrows up and down.
I sigh and turn to the living space, sinking onto the couch. “What do you think I was doing?”
Lexi narrows her eyes in my direction. “Obviously, I know what you were doing. The question is, with who?”
