Just being in her bed with Ryske went against what Harlow had been asserting since the night they’d met. But he had wormed his way into her affections. As much as she wanted to believe him, Harlow wouldn’t be naïve.
Ryske was no romantic hero. It would be her own fault if she was dumb enough to cross this street without looking both ways.
Touching his brow with a fingertip, she wondered if anyone truly got inside this man’s head. “How many women have you made fall in love with you, Crash?”
“Love?” he asked and shrugged, finger-combing her hair to the back of her shoulder, though it fluttered down onto his bare chest again the moment it left his digits. “I don’t know. But I’ve hurt more than I’d be proud to admit.”
Stroking her fingernail through his eyebrow, Harlow concentrated how the hairs moved rather than his gaze beneath. “My father owns an investment firm,” she said. “Sweeting Securities.”
“I know,” he said, curling his fingers around the side of her neck.
“He’s not a one percenter, but he has access to a lot of money.”
A twitch in his eyelid made her gaze drop to his. “What are you trying to tell me, baby? You want me to run a con on your dad? You got beef there?”
“I’m saying you could,” she said, slithering down his body to use her fingernail on the lines of his shoulder tattoo that stretched across his pec. Whenever she traced his tattoos, his voice got heavier, and his focus wavered. “I could get you in.”
But if she thought she was manipulating him or going to get him to admit to something he meant to keep secret, she’d underestimated just how shrewd he was.
Catching her off guard again, he threw his arms around her and flipped her onto her back. The covers tangled between them, but there was no pillow for protection this time.
“Trink, I know what you’re thinking… what you think this is. But if you saw the con coming, I wouldn’t be doing it right.”
So he recognized what her attempt to tempt him was. Yes, it was a test. Harlow didn’t want him to steal from her father and she sure didn’t want to be party to it. Finding out if Ryske was for real, if his choice to be here was personal or professional, was her goal. But he was wise to it.
Hearing his assurances did make her feel better. There was no point trying to trick him if he was just going to see through it. “How do you do it?” she asked. “How do you decide where to… you know?”
“You’ve heard of means, motive, and opportunity, right?” She nodded. “I know you have because I’ve read it in your textbooks.”
While she was at work, he had access to everything in her apartment. She hadn’t thought that meant reading her college work, but it didn’t upset her that he had. It was just lying there on her desk after all, it wasn’t confidential.
The warm weight of his body was calming… and intimate. “You always have the means. You’re skilled and capable. That can’t define what you choose.”
“No, but the other two do. Sometimes a situation presents itself and we have to deal with it, like this Hagan bullshit. Other times, we get a tip and find our way in. We’re always listening for opportunity. Sometimes we have to create it.”
For him, it was simple. For her, it was riveting. “And how do you do that? Why do you do that?”
“Well, that’s motive, sweetheart. If I need the money, I have the motive, and that’s when I go looking for opportunity.”
“That’s when you go looking for a mark,” she said, captivated and intrigued. “How do you pick a mark?”
If he sensed the depth of her interest, he didn’t mock it. “I have my own triangle for that,” he said and pressed a fingertip into her as he counted off the three points. “Means, weakness, and karma. Means: does the potential mark have the ability to sacrifice something I need while absorbing the hit? I won’t leave anyone destitute.” That surprised her. Harlow’s expression must have changed to betray her emotion because he added clarification. “Doesn’t mean what I do doesn’t cause the mark problems. Usually does. Sometimes they lose a lot. Destitute to me isn’t the same thing as it is to them.”
Coming from the streets and living his life surrounded by poverty, Ryske understood what real need was. By going after the rich, who’d probably care more about embarrassment than losing money, their marks would be able to absorb the financial hit of whatever was stolen from them.
The Floyd’s crew didn’t wipe people out, which was what she took from what Ryske was saying. It was smart; maybe not so selfless. Hitting any one person too hard would bring unwanted attention to them, both from potential future marks and law enforcement.
“I suppose the weakness is how you get what you want,” she said. “Is there a weakness you can exploit to get in or extract what you need?” Wearing a smile, he nodded once. “But karma.” Harlow narrowed her eyes and gave a quick, shallow head shake to show her confusion. “I don’t—”
“Do they have it coming,” he said. “Every couple of years or so we do one big job; something that takes serious planning and a long con. There’s nothing more satisfying than giving some sick, rich bastard a taste of his own medicine.”
“Like a regular Robin Hood.”
“Nah, I don’t give it away,” he said. “Though, I guess you could think of me and my crew as poor and needy…”
“If you’re poor it’s because you spend so much on takeout and beer,” she said, opening her hands around the curve of his shoulders. “I have never known a group of men in better shape, yet you all eat so terribly.”
“I eat well when you cook for me,” he said.
“Something I won’t be doing anymore in a couple of days,” she said, feeling a pang of sorrow. “You will take care of yourself, won’t you, Crash?”
“Always have.”
Maybe because he’d never had parents or family to look out for him; his crew were his surrogate family. “I’m worried about this Hagan mess. His men are looking for you. Bale can’t go back to his apartment. He said today that he thinks Hagan’s men are following him, probably looking for you…”
“Probably,” Ryske said. It dumbfounded her that he was so casual about the potential danger waiting on the streets preparing for the next time he showed his face. “Hagan’s had a guy in Floyd’s for the last couple of weeks.”
Though her body tensed, her jaw loosened. “You know that? Why wouldn’t Dover kick him out?”
“Because while he’s keeping an eye on us, we’re keeping an eye on him.” His smile didn’t make her feel better. “Don’t worry, Trink. Soon as I run out Bale’s clock, I’ll deal with it.”
“That’s what worries me, Ryske. Hagan’s men favor weapons. Did you forget getting stabbed and shot at a couple of weeks ago? They brought a gun to Bale’s too. They’re serious men; don’t screw around with them. You’ll get hurt again.”
Swagger warmed his expression. “You worried about me, baby?” he asked, but she wasn’t messing around. “I won’t get hurt. I have my crew behind me. This is war, baby. You’ve got to be willing to take a few licks.”
Being stabbed was not a lick to her. Fearing for his safety, she wanted them to stop being stubborn and just make things better. No competition was worth losing their lives.
“Maybe if you just pay Hagan back the money,” she said. “I know it’s a lot. I can help. I could ask—”
“I could come up with ten grand if I had to… if I wanted to. Losing the money was the plan.”
Bale had told her Ryske would do anything for the job. Hearing that in action scared her. “Was getting stabbed part of the plan?”
“Just a slight detour.”
He was so glib that she was offended. “If it means so little to you, why did I bother to save your life?”
“It never hurts to let your enemy stew,” he said, trying to trail his fingertips into her hair, but she swatted his hand away. Seizing her wrist, he pinned it to the bed and bowed lower. “Tighter?”
The reminder of her slip up earlier became less embarrassing when his fingers strengthened. Need took humiliation’s place as it began to pulse through her. A squeak left her lips. His feral look of knowing was pure smug satisfaction.
“Ryske,” she gasped when the pain of his grip grew, enhancing her arousal.
“What is it that fascinates you about criminals, scholar?” The question surprised her. “That’s right, Trink, I read your essay. Their motivation. The excitement. The thrill… You don’t get it. Least you didn’t. Not until you met my crew. You want to know if I’m conning you? Well, I want to know if I’m just an academic exercise.”
It hadn’t even occurred to her that getting close to him and his friends was anything other than altruism. Not at first anyway. “No! Ryske, I wouldn’t—”
“Why didn’t you call the cops?” he asked, not soft and safe anymore.
For the first time, she realized he had questions of his own. About her. Questions about who she was. Not simple facts like names and dates, but on the inside, in those deep recesses of her that she’d never revealed.
The growl in his voice and glare in his eye made her more aware of her vulnerable position beneath him, trapped by his strength. Yet, in spite of the adrenaline coursing through her, she didn’t feel fear. She felt just about every other emotion there was. But not fear.
“You told me not to,” was as much of a response as she could muster while entranced by him.
“You didn’t give a fuck about me. I was bleeding out. I could’ve died on that street, but you risked your freedom by following my instructions… Was that it? The risk? Does taking risks excite you, baby? More than a good little girl like you wants to admit, right?”
This was too much. Too close. Too intimate. In bed with him. In the dead of night.
Grabbing her last thread of resistance, Harlow swallowed and tried to push him away, but he was too strong. “Stop it, Ryske,” she protested. “Why are you doing this?”
“You like it tight?” Another squeak came from her throat when he squeezed her wrist so tight that she was sure he was close to crushing bones. “I like it tight too, baby… and I bet you can deliver.”
Suddenly, he pounced to his knees. Harlow froze. Ryske yanked the blankets from between their bodies and thrust them out of the way.
“Ryske,” she said, panting. “Ryske, what are you doing?”
Her nightgown was next to be pushed aside. He parted her legs with one rough hand while the other kept its conquering hold on her wrist. “For two weeks you’ve been hiding behind the excuse of my injury… tonight I show you that excuse is bullshit. I’m capable, baby. So damn capable you’ll forget how to breathe.”
She wasn’t sure that she could remember now. This was happening so fast. From sleep, to conversation, to… he dropped down over her. Against her inner thigh, she could feel his hand slip into his sweats, either to take them off or free himself.
Harlow was still trying to catch her breath and couldn’t figure out what to do. “Crash,” she said, and he paused for long enough to look her in the eye. Trying to distinguish his need from his determination, she slid a hand to his cheek to stroke him. “Make me a promise. Say it and mean it.”
Could he do it? Harlow knew he could say it. He was a conman capable of saying anything. If he said it, would she be able to tell if he meant it? She could pretend to believe it whether she did or not and let herself give in to him.
But she wouldn’t.
Harlow had been strong for the last two weeks. Desirable as he was, this man wouldn’t be able to give her what she wanted. Sure, a short-term fling would light up her world and, he was right, it would be the thrill of her life. But she wouldn’t give him her heart, not for nothing.
Though he seemed to be searching her, she couldn’t tell what he was looking for. She needed something from him, but he needed something back. Until she knew what it was, there was no chance that she could give it to him.
A light on the nightstand beyond her shoulder drew his eye. A moment later, the sound of her phone ringing pierced the air.
Ryske surged up to snag the phone from the nightstand and answered it. Using the camera rather than the mouthpiece showed it was a FaceTime call. “What?” he snapped.
“Need you, man.”
Harlow recognized Noon’s voice and took the phone to turn it to her. Ryske came down to lie beside her so they could both see the screen.
“You’re not getting him,” she said, guessing that Noon was in a dark corner of Floyd’s from the noise and what was going on around him.
She couldn’t see many details, and didn’t know the bar that well since she’d only been there once. But their underground dealings were at their busiest on a Friday night. She’d overheard the crew talking about it earlier in the week and figured that was probably why the guys had snuck away from her apartment without her coaxing them out.
Something like pride and relief crossed Noon’s face; he didn’t look as relaxed as he usually did. “I know interrupting Ryske when he’s getting laid is like a cardinal sin, but this is no joke.”
Trying her best not to be outraged, Harlow was about to tell Noon she was referring to Bale’s medical advice, not the bed that he’d be able to see they were sharing. Noon flipped the camera before she could speak. It took her a minute to figure out what she was supposed to be seeing through the shadows of the smoky place, but when she picked out the features of Alleyman, she gasped.
Ryske must have figured it out in the same second that she did. “On my way,” he said and disconnected the call.
Leaping from the bed, it took him just a few seconds to snatch up the clothes he’d discarded on the floor. Dressing as he strode from the bedroom, Ryske wasn’t thinking about anything except being where his crew needed him to be.
Snapping out of her shock, Harlow followed in his footsteps, scrambling from the bed and dashing out of the room. “Ryske!”
He was at the end of the breakfast bar, using it as support to step into his boots. “Save it, Trink.”
Glad that he had to bend and tie his boots, she used the delay to hurry across the room and put herself in front of him. “I don’t… I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“The wound is sealed. You said it yourself,” he said, straightening up. “The dressing is off. I’ll square things with Bale.”
He tried to go past her, but she got in his way, splaying both hands on his chest. “Crash, I…” Panic and fear were making her tremble. Harlow didn’t know what to say or how to get what she wanted, that was Ryske’s forte, not hers. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
Touching her chin with a gentle caress, he didn’t lose any of his determination. “Only one thing stops me walking out that door.”
“One thing?” she asked, but her flash of hope was dashed when he curled a digit under the strap of her nightgown to draw it down her arm.
He’d stay if she offered her body to him.
Tilting his head, he began to descend. Before his mouth could make contact with hers, she turned her face away.
He didn’t argue or mock, just accepted that he had his answer and let his hand fall. “Take it easy, Trinket.”
This time when he skirted around her, she didn’t block his path. His friends needed him; that was all he cared about. Even if she’d offered him her body, he hadn’t promised to stay away from danger. The sad truth was, there would always be danger.
Providing his friends weren’t injured by Alleyman, they’d forgive Ryske for not showing up if he could declare he’d been busy screwing her. Or maybe he’d known she’d refuse, so the ultimatum was moot. There would be nothing stopping him from having sex with her and splitting the second they were done anyway.
Even if he didn’t, there would be more danger, maybe new danger, tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. Every risk lined up just waiting to bring peril to Ryske.
Hearing him leave broke her heart.
After two weeks recuperating from being stabbed, Ryske wasn’t at peak fitness. He’d been taking it easy, not working out or training. But her concern was about more than the level of ability.
If Alleyman was at Floyd’s for Ryske, or even if he wasn’t, and he just saw him walking in, he could do what he’d promised to in that alley and finish what he started. Ryske could be stabbed again, or shot, and though he’d be surrounded by his crew, that wouldn’t guarantee he’d be okay.
What boiled the acid eating her guts was that she’d never know. Harlow might never know what became of any of them.
Slumping back against the end of the breakfast bar, she struggled to hold herself up. As the adrenaline began to subside, she wrapped her arms around herself, guarding against the chill it left in its wake. Life without Ryske had happened as suddenly as he’d crashed into her life.
He was gone.
He wouldn’t be back. There would be no point in him coming back to her apartment after showing his face in Floyd’s again. Knowing he was practiced in what he did was all she could hang her hopes on. He’d be okay. She was probably panicking for nothing. His crew would see him safe.
Alone and feeling sorry for herself, being in the city had never felt so isolating. Harlow was free to go back to her life as it had been before. Life in the fast lane was over.