Cruel Paradise (Beautifully Cruel Book 2)

After a few seconds of stunned silence, Max says, “Okay, that’s freaky as hell. He’s calling you after I just said you should call him? What are the odds of that?”

Fin glances around worriedly. “What’s really freaky is how he knew we were here. Do you think he followed you after he kicked you out of the taxi?”

“He must’ve. I guess he likes playing games.”

Like a cat with a mouse right before it delivers the killing bite that severs the spinal cord.

I grit my teeth, square my shoulders, and look around, expecting to see a bunch of big dudes wearing evil expressions and dark suits with suspicious bulges underneath. But I see no hitmen, only regular people talking and drinking, mingling near the bar.

I stand, my heart banging around inside my chest. “If I’m not back in five minutes, you guys know what to do.”

Max nods. “Blow the place.”

“What? No! Go to your safe spots and text the signal when you’re all clear!”

Fin is frowning. “I thought ‘if I’m not back in five minutes’ was code for ‘I’m going home with the hot piece of ass I just met, don’t bother waiting up for me.’”

“Jesus,” I say, glaring at them in disappointment. “We’re the worst criminals who ever lived.”

Fin replies, “At least Max and I know better than to insult the grand poohbah of the underworld, babe. Now go save our asses. We’ll be right here getting drunk in case you fail.”

Shaking my head, I leave them and head in the direction of the man bun, who’s waiting for me at the end of the bar. He motions to a telephone booth near the back exit. It’s one of those old-fashioned red ones from London that tourists love to take their pictures near.

Adrenaline courses through me like electricity. I enter the booth, pull the door shut, and take a deep breath. Then I lift the receiver off the top of the phone box and bring it to my ear.

The silence on the other end of the line crackles. Even through a phone wire, his presence is as palpable as a hand sliding over my skin.

Then: “I wasn’t planning on that.”

The voice is low, rough, and distinctive. Now that I’ve heard it, I’d recognize that rich Irish brogue anywhere.

I say, “On not killing me when you had the chance?”

“On losing my temper. I owe you an apology.”

We breathe at each other until I recover my senses. “Are you joking?”

“No.”

“Is this…some kind of game?”

“No.”

I stare so hard at the buttons on the phone they start to blur. “Okay, I’m just gonna go ahead and admit I have no idea what’s happening right now.”

“What’s happening is that I’m apologizing for throwing you out onto the street.”

“After I stole ninety thousand dollars’ worth of diapers from you?”

“Aye.” A hint of warmth creeps into his solemn voice. “Though I’m told that technically they were stolen from a warehouse, not from me.”

I long for a chair to collapse into, but sagging against the glass door of the narrow booth will have to do. Gripping the receiver in both hands, I demand loudly, “Are you going to kill us or what?”

He sighs. “Not this again.”

“Is that a no?”

He says firmly, “Aye, lass, it’s a no.”

I ignore how I like being called “lass,” and forge ahead. “Why? Because we’re girls? If we were men, we’d already be dead, right?”

When he hesitates, I blurt, “Oh, god, you changed your mind.”

“No. I’m just disappointed that my reputation includes harming women. I’ve never lifted a hand to a woman in my—”

He stops abruptly and curses under his breath.

When he doesn’t continue, I say, “Um. You were saying?”

He exhales heavily. “I was about to tell you a lie. I did hit a woman once. I beat her, actually.”

If my jaw drops open any lower, it will be resting on the tops of my shoes.

“It’s one of my greatest regrets. I was under the impression she was trafficking girls—selling children—never mind. It’s a long story. My point is that I don’t want us to get off on the wrong foot, so I’m being honest.”

When I’m silent too long, cross-eyed with shock and confusion, he says, “I killed the man who gave me that incorrect information. That Eva was a trafficker.”

Swallowing around my dead lump of a tongue, I say, “Oh. Okay, then.”

“I know it doesn’t excuse what I did. I’m not saying it does. I’m just giving the reason.”

“Uh…”

“She’s married now. Has twins. I watch them when her husband goes out of town for work. We’ve become good friends.”

“So it all worked out in the end.”

There. I managed to sound like a rational human being and not the mashed-potatoes-for-brains zombie I really am.

His tone turning firm, he commands, “Tell me why you donated what you stole from me to a charity. Why take the risk for no financial gain? What was in it for you?”

This guy is giving me whiplash. “What difference does it make?”

“Motivation speaks to character. Tell me.”

God, he’s bossy. I’m irritated until I think of Fin and Max, and what thin ice we’re all skating on right now, and decide to relent. “All right. If you must know, to make amends.”

A long, blistering silence follows. Then he says slowly, “Amends to whom?”

“Well…the world, I guess. To everyone.”

There’s another pause, this one longer. “And what kind of terrible sins have Robin Hood and her merry band of thieves committed that would require making amends to the entire world?”

“Not us,” I say, my voice quiet.

“Then who?”

I don’t know why I tell him.

Maybe because I’ve never said the words out loud before, or because I sense so much is riding on my answer, or because I’ve had a lot to drink. But the words are out before I can stop them. Along with them comes a strange sense of relief.

“Our fathers are all bad people. Very bad people. The kind who don’t care who they have to hurt to get what they want. The people we steal from are all like that, too. What we do is kind of…it’s our small way of giving back. Of trying to make up for being related to such gigantic assholes.”

When he doesn’t say anything for so long I start to get worried, I blurt, “I’m not lying.”

“I believe you,” he says, his voice surprisingly soft.

Then he doesn’t say anything else, and panic kicks in. I start to babble.

“Um. So. That’s it. That’s the reason. We’re actually pretty bad at what we do. One of us inevitably screws something up, and it’s a miracle we’re all not in jail already, and we do have day jobs, we’re not total criminals, just sort of part-time you could say. Well, I don’t mean to make it sound like we don’t take it seriously, because obviously we do, it’s dangerous stuff, but—”

“I want to see you.”

His tone has lost all its softness. It’s still low, but now it’s tense, too, filled with a dark need that makes my panic skyrocket.

All the breath leaves my lungs. Swallowing around the lump in my throat, I whisper, “Why?”

His voice thick, he says, “You know why.”

God help me, I do. And it’s not because he wants to kill me.

I didn’t even know my heart could do what it’s doing, that throbbing, thrashing thing that’s making my limbs weak and my entire body shake.

“I…I have a boyfriend.”

He makes a soft sound of dissatisfaction. “We were doing so well with the truth telling, little thief. I know you don’t have a boyfriend. I know you haven’t been serious with anyone in years. I know your credit score and how much money you have in your checking account and that your name is probably fake, because I conducted a background check on you and found several interesting holes in your life history.”

His voice drops. “I also know you like me, too, even though you’d never admit it.”

I can’t speak. I doubt there are any words that could properly convey the depth of my shock, anyway.

Finally, I pull my head out of my ass and say the only thing that comes to mind, though it’s not even in the top ten most relevant after those bombs he just dropped on me.

“How did you find me here?”

“I put a tracker on your jacket. Under the collar, left side.”

My hand flies up to fumble around under the collar of my jacket, until my fingers close over a tiny, round piece of metal, smooth and cool against my skin.

I pull it off and stare at it in disbelief. Smaller than a dime, it’s a little electronic gotcha winking at me under the phone booth’s lights.

“I’d apologize, but I’m not sorry, and I want us to start off on the right foot, like I said. So no lying. Either of us,” he adds sternly, as if he’s being entirely reasonable.

As if he hasn’t completely short-circuited my brain.

I say faintly, “What is happening?”

“Be in the alley behind the bar in sixty seconds, and I’ll explain it to you.”

The phone goes dead in my hand.

I stare at it, frozen, until someone knocks on the phone booth glass. I jump, looking up into Max’s face.

She gives me a questioning thumbs-up.

Moving slowly, I hang up the phone and open the door.

She says impatiently, “Well? How’d it go?”

“I’m pretty sure he’s not going to kill us.”

She examines my expression for a moment. “Then why do you look like you’re about to barf?”

“Because he’s waiting for me outside.”

She swings around to stare in shock at the exit I gestured to. “Here? Now? Why?”

“I…think we’re going on a date.”

She turns back to me, blinking so slowly it’s comical. “A date.”

“I think so. Either that, or he recently fired his therapist and needs to get some things off his chest.”

“I have no idea what that means.”

“It means that for a soulless, ruthless, cold-blooded gangster, he’s surprisingly big on confessing his faults.”

Max stares at me in silence.

“And honesty. He seems to be big on honesty, too. He kept insisting we weren’t going to lie to each other.” My laugh is small and semi-hysterical. “So we don’t get off on the wrong foot.”

She says, “Oh shit.”

“Exactly.”

We gaze at each other for a while, both of us knowing that my choices are limited.

I can try to run, putting my friends’ lives in danger, in addition to my own if he finds me. Which I’m beginning to suspect he could easily do. He seems to have all kinds of tricks up his well-tailored sleeves.

And despite his promises to the contrary, there’s no guarantee he won’t kill us all if I don’t comply with his wishes.

Or.

I can walk out the back door.

“Where’s Fin?”

“She went to the restroom.”

I take a deep breath, blow it out, and say a quick, silent prayer. “Don’t go back to the apartment tonight. Go to your safe spots and stay there. And if you don’t hear from me by dawn, contact my father.”

Max blanches. “Your father? Why?”

I say grimly, “He’s the only one who’ll be able to protect you and Fin from Liam Black.”

Then I give her a quick, hard hug, and head out.