Glorious Sinner (Lawless Kings, #4.5) Read online

  My right arm wasn’t working, so I reached with my left. My phone got knocked off the bathroom counter when the first punch came, and it was still there, just out of reach. I pressed my split lips together to hold back my cry of pain and used my foot against the tub to slide my body across the bloody tiles.

  I finally reached the phone with the tips of my fingers and dragged it closer, wincing as I tapped the button to open my contacts list. I needed to call for an ambulance, but if I didn’t do this first, before they fed me painkillers and I lost consciousness, Ryan would come for me at the hospital. He’d take me out of there before I could talk to the police. He’d done it before.

  Several of my fingers were broken, so it made it hard to scroll to the name I was looking for, but I finally found it.

  Aunt Hetty.

  My aunt had died four years ago, and she’d never owned a cell phone. But I’d been using her name to disguise the real person behind that number for six years.

  I’d called it a few times, just not from my phone. Once from a phone someone had dropped at the club I’d worked at, just to see if the number was still the same. And most recently at a twenty-four-hour garage three months ago, when I’d started to think that Ryan might actually kill me if I didn’t find a way to get free of him.

  He’d answered every time, and every time I’d stayed on the line for a few seconds to hear his voice, the strength of it, the harsh, deep growl of it. And every time he’d go quiet, silently waiting, like he knew, like somehow he knew it was me, and he was just waiting for me to say something.

  That was probably just a fantasy, another layer of lies that I’d used to make my life bearable. He’d probably forgotten about me completely.

  But whether he knew it or not, he’d been there for me all these years, through the fear and the horror. I’d told myself he was there, just a call away, and that made it bearable.

  I touched the call button, struggling to draw in a breath as it rang.

  A few seconds later that voice, that cold, hard voice that had represented safety to me, echoed through the bathroom. “Yes?”

  Tomas.

  I opened my mouth, but words wouldn’t come, blood coating my tongue. I coughed, a wheezing sound coming out of me. “T-t…” More coughing.

  “Stephanie?”

  I couldn’t talk. My jaw hurt too much and was swelling.

  “Stephanie, is that you?” His voice was urgent.

  It took everything I had left to say the words. “K-keep him…a-away.”

  “Where are you? Are you at home?” he said.

  I made a sound that I hoped he interpreted as a yes. Then I hit end and called for an ambulance.

  Ryan never came.

  Not once while I was in my private hospital room that the nurses assured me was paid for.

  The police said my husband was missing and they didn’t have any leads.

  I prayed every night that he’d never come back.

  And hoped that whatever Tomas did to him, it hurt like hell.

  1

  Stephanie

  Twelve months later

  I felt his eyes on me as soon as I walked into the room.

  Tomas was back.

  A multitude of uncontrollable flutters erupted in my belly and my pulse thumped erratically at my throat. I forced myself to ignore it all and carried on across the shiny black floor at Stilettos, the upscale Brooklyn strip club I’d worked at for over a year.

  Usually I looked forward to coming into work; today not so much. Today I just wanted to hide under the covers.

  I glanced in Tomas’s direction. There was no way in hell I could go over there and look into those dark eyes like everything was okay, not with the way they always tore through me, searching out places that didn’t exist anymore, places that hadn’t existed for a long time. Not when my defenses were damaged and crumbling.

  Because if he looked hard enough, he’d see it. He’d see the fear and the exhaustion, and he’d also see my relief.

  Relief that he was back.

  I hadn’t seen him in two weeks. The longest he’d been away since he did what he had for me a year ago.

  I’d started to think he wouldn’t come back.

  I curled my fingers into a tight fist, letting my nails dig into my flesh, letting the bite of pain halt those thoughts before they could fully form, and carried on toward the bar. I felt that gaze following me, but he didn’t stand, didn’t try to come after me. He’d wait. It didn’t matter how long I took. He’d sit there and he’d wait.

  A shiver slid through my body, like it always did when Tomas was in the room, and I dug my nails deeper, ignoring that as well.

  My back was to him and I drew in a steadying breath. How was I going to get that close, feel his hard body against mine, breathe in his dark scent, and act like everything was normal?

  Tomas would see the fear, because he was looking for it. He was always looking for it.

  He saw me as broken.

  A weak, broken little bird.

  And I hated that so damn much.

  Usually my mental armor was in place when I danced for him—armor that protected me, that I wasn’t afraid to say I hid behind. Sometimes I went days without letting that barrier drop. It had gotten so tough and thick I’d almost forgotten who I was underneath it.

  But today, today it was fractured and, God, I didn’t want him to see it. No, there wasn’t much left of me, of the girl I’d once been, but what was left I planned on keeping for myself. And tonight, if Tomas really wanted to, he’d break through.

  Because I thought, I had an awful feeling that…I’d missed him. I tightened my fist, my nails probably breaking skin, drawing blood.

  The music pumped through the club and I let it pound through me, drew strength from the driving beat, anything not to show my weaknesses.

  Everyone knew why Tomas came here. I was his standing order. I didn’t understand it; I never would. He never touched me. He barely talked to me. He just watched me with those dark eyes while I danced in his lap. After, he’d stand and walk out, but not before handing me a stack of bills that was more than most girls made in a week.

  I planned on giving it back. Every penny. It sat in my dresser drawer. I didn’t want to think about why I kept taking it from him, why I let him think I needed it when I made more than enough on my own. We had a good clientele here, men who were generous with their money, especially after a few drinks.

  I didn’t want his money.

  That’s not what I wanted from him.

  What I wanted was something else entirely. Something that equally terrified and excited me.

  Something I’d wanted from him since I was sixteen years old, the first time I saw him working construction with my father.

  And I sure as hell wasn’t taking about love.

  Love made you blind, led you to places you were never meant to go. I knew, because that happened to me and I’d paid the price, was still paying for it.

  Tomas had saved me, and he’d never asked for anything in return. But the first time he came in to Stilettos and tried to give me money—money I’d desperately needed back then—my pride that I’d been working so damn hard to get back wouldn’t allow it. I insisted on giving him something in return, and the only thing I had to give was me.

  He’d agreed, even though I’d seen on his face that he didn’t want to. But he’d agreed all the same, because he’d pitied me. The shattered creature he’d rescued. And I hated that most.

  Now I danced for him whenever he came in.

  Tomas came in a lot.

  I just knew I didn’t want to see the pity anymore, and every time I danced for him I hoped that day would be the day he’d see me as a woman and not the broken shell he found on that bathroom floor.

  It hadn’t happened yet, and deep down I knew it wouldn’t happen, because I was an obligation to him. Nothing more.

  I didn’t want to name what he was to me.

  I leaned against the glossy black
and chrome bar. He’d never made a move on me, not once. He didn’t want me that way. I knew that for a fact. It was hard to miss his lack of interest.

  I should have been happy about that. Tomas was most definitely a destination I needed to avoid. I’d never make myself vulnerable like that again, but I had the horrible feeling that being with him, just once, was the only way I’d ever feel alive again.

  Brent put a glass down on the bar in front of me, smiling when I jumped, jolted out of my thoughts. “All right, Steph?”

  I forced a smile. “Yeah, of course.”

  He slid the glass closer and tilted his head in Tomas’s direction. “You may as well take this over with you.”

  As tempting as it was, turning and walking out wasn’t an option, and not just because I owed Tomas my life. No, it was because dancing for him made me feel human again.

  And I needed that so damn much.

  Curling my fingers around the glass, I braced and made myself turn. Tomas sat in one of the deep red leather chairs in his usual spot in the corner, and his eyes lifted to me as I strode toward him. I won’t lie—I put some extra sway in my hips as I got closer. Trying like I always did to break him, to break that controlled exterior. To get him to lose the pity I saw when he looked at me.

  But Tomas Mendoza never lost control.

  His dark gaze dropped, moving over my body, and I allowed myself the illusion, just for a moment, that he wasn’t just making sure I was okay, that the look in his eyes wasn’t simply one of concern.

  That I was the one in control.

  I walked right up and placed his drink on the table in front of him.

  “Stephanie,” he said in that rough velvet voice.

  God, when he said my full name like that my belly quivered.

  I didn’t reply and moved in closer, in between his solid thighs. He was wearing black suit pants and a black shirt, the sleeves rolled up revealing his inked hands and forearms. His hands rested on his thighs, like they did whenever I danced. He had big hands, long fingers, scarred knuckles. I’d had dreams about those hands on me, those hands that had done terrible things, hands that had punished, and beaten, and tortured men who had stupidly tried to get in his way.

  Hands that had saved me.

  I slid my fingers over his broad shoulders and started moving my hips to the music, feeling the muscles under my hands bunch and shift.

  I didn’t look into his eyes, I couldn’t. I spun away when I felt his gaze try to lock on mine, and bent forward doing my usual moves, flipping my hair, giving him everything I had, doing my best to poke the bear, to shake that iron control.

  I danced the entire song for him, and as it was coming to an end I dropped lower, my ass grazing his groin…

  Oh God.

  I stilled, shocked.

  He was hard.

  I felt something slide over my skin—his finger—shifting my hair over my shoulder. His chest came forward, pressing against my back as he leaned forward. “Miss me, pretty girl?” he said, lips lightly brushing my ear, voice no longer rough velvet but pure gravel.

  I spun around.

  He stayed where he was, looking up at me, expression fierce, raw, jaw tight. There was something in his eyes, something I had never seen before, something that had me stumbling back a step.

  His control, it was slipping.

  No, it was nonexistent.

  My reaction was probably extreme, but he hadn’t touched me, not even my hair in the twelve months he’d been coming here, and he’d definitely never reacted to me like that. He’d also never spoken to me with that voice, God, in that way. Like he was whispering in his lover’s ear.

  He stood abruptly, and I retreated another step, not because I was scared of him—he wouldn’t hurt me—but this change was unexpected. I was completely thrown.

  His gaze tracked me, not missing a thing—the way I’d retreated, my wide-eyed stare—and his nostrils flared, that strong jaw getting tighter.

  He was angry, but not with me. I knew that look well. He was angry with himself, and worse, under it all, he was disappointed.

  But that was directed at me.

  Tomas pulled his wallet from his pocket, slid out a stack of bills, double what he usually gave me, and threw them on the table. He moved in then, coming closer.

  I held still and he kept coming until there were only a few feet between us.

  Tomas was hard and tough and unshakable. He ran this city. His name alone scared the shit out of people. No one crossed him and got away with it. He’d earned his reputation and then some.

  But at that moment, despite the impeccable suit, the perfect outward appearance, he looked rattled.

  “I’m not coming back,” he said softly.

  I just stared at him, not sure what the hell was going on, what he was saying. “You’re going away again?” I rasped.

  His head twisted to the right, gazing into the crowd, and when he looked back the hard-as-stone Tomas was back. “No.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I’m not coming back here,” he said.

  He was done. He wasn’t coming to see me anymore. An uncomfortable feeling started behind my chest and sank to my stomach.

  A lot of people were terrified of Tomas, but not me, not like that. Knowing I was on his radar had made me feel safe, the safest I’d felt in a very long time.

  His eyes bore into me, and I knew he was waiting for something from me, wanted me to say something. I had no idea what. I didn’t even understand what I was feeling in that moment, not when I’d been numb for so long.

  “Do you understand what I’m saying?” he said.

  I had no freaking clue, but as the silence stretched out between us and his expression got more closed off, harder with every passing second, I didn’t know what to say, so I nodded.

  The muscle in his jaw jumped and he dipped his chin. “You know where I am if you want me.”

  Then he turned and strode away.

  I watched him go.

  If you want me.

  Not if you need me. If you want me. Those words rang through my mind the rest of my shift. I tried to tell myself he wasn’t saying what I thought he was, that the disappointment hadn’t been because he’d finally decided to…

  I shook my head. Even thinking it seemed ludicrous. I’d still didn’t fully understand what had happened.

  Don’t you? You felt it. He let you feel it.

  Those thoughts wouldn’t leave me alone, because deep down I knew they were true.

  And now Tomas had given up on me.

  I let my fingernails bite into my palm, let the sting clear my mind, then I got my bag from the back and headed for home.

  My apartment was silent when I got there. Still, I tilted my head listening for any sounds as I flicked on the light and walked around checking every corner like I always did when I got home at night. I couldn’t relax until I knew the place was safe, until I knew I was alone.

  Ryan had vanished after that last time twelve months ago, and I knew that was down to Tomas, but the fear of my husband’s reappearance was always in the back of my mind. That one day he’d show up on my doorstep and finish the job he’d started. I rubbed the scar on the side of my bicep, one of many and a reminder of that awful night, of the nightmare I’d lived for six years. A reminder I’d have for the rest of my life.

  That’s nothing compared to the memories.

  I’d tried to leave, more than once, and each time he’d caught me and dragged me back. And he’d made me pay. Finding an escape after that had felt insurmountable. Especially when I’d been cut off from family and friends, had no access to our bank accounts, and my phone was checked routinely.

  I’d been trapped, a prisoner. His prisoner.

  I glanced at the trash can in the kitchen, at the red box I’d thrown in there this morning poking up a little above the lip. The chocolates had been at my door when I woke this morning. No card.

  They’d messed with me all day, had sent terror
through me that I hadn’t yet managed to shake off.

  Were they from Ryan? Was he back?

  I shook my head. He wouldn’t dare come back. No. It was probably just someone from my building, or they’d been left at the wrong door.

  I quickly changed, poured myself a glass of wine, and climbed on the couch. There was no way I was sleeping now, so instead I picked a movie and tried to switch off, to concentrate on what I was watching.

  If you want me.

  Tomas’s voice echoed through my find for the millionth time and I squeezed my eyes shut, trying and failing to cram down the awful twisted feeling coiling in my belly, to block out the thought of never seeing him again.

  The truth was Tomas made me feel like I was flesh and blood, that I actually existed.

  He was the only person left in my life who knew me. Stephanie before Ryan. The girl I’d been before I’d been stripped down layer by layer until there was nothing left. Before I’d built walls around me ten inches thick. He’d known me when I’d been carefree and fun, when I’d laughed at my dad’s corny jokes and hung out with my friends. When my smiles were genuine and I had the capacity to love with my whole heart.

  Without Tomas around to remind me of her, I was afraid she might slip even farther away. That I might finally lose her altogether.

  2

  Stephanie

  I rushed into the living room, nearly tripping over the wineglass I’d left on the floor last night. “Shit.” I’d slept in, like really late. Raul was a good boss, the best, but I was due on stage in thirty minutes and he’d be pissed if he had to find a replacement last minute.

  I winced. The hangover wasn’t helping. I’d polished off the bottle of red and opened another in an attempt to get some peace. Not something I usually did, but last night had felt like a bottle-and-a-half kind of night. This was going to be a long-ass day.

  Slinging my bag over my shoulder, my costume changes draped over my arm, I grabbed my makeup case, swiped the keys off the table, and yanked the door open.