“If you run, Arloe.” Her eyes jump to mine as I turn and speak. “It won’t end pretty for you. I’d have to tell Jude what happened, and he would probably tell my dad, and then we would all hunt you down, and I won’t be so nice.”
Her hands tremble again.
“Tell me, Arloe, have you heard of the Ciccones?”
She shakes her head. “I stick to myself. Which is why you don’t have to worry. I’ll be on my way and—”
I hold up my hand to silence her. Her hesitation in taking me up on my offer makes sense now that I know she doesn’t know who I am. She doesn’t know who my family is. We try to keep a low profile, but that doesn’t always work with what we do.
My father, Eric Ciccone, is a businessman of sorts. He’s hard and straight to the point in everything he does, and he wants every one of my siblings and myself to follow in his footsteps. There are eight of us in total, and we all play our part.
Kenley, my only sister, uses female persuasion to help the cause. Emilio runs a private club to help incriminate potential partners. Jett is a therapist who abides by the law unless we ask otherwise, and his twin, Jude, is our muscle. Then there is Leaon, who couldn’t give a fuck less about this shit. He’s more worried about touring the States, playing music, and fucking groupies. But even with the little freedom he has, he has a role to meet when Dad requires it. Max, the oldest of us all, is stuck so far up my dad’s ass he might as well be him. And Ashton, or Baby as we call him, is, well—the baby.
We aren’t a traditional family. Other than Jude and Jett, there is no blood that connects us. My dad was a foster reject, and taking us all in was his way to give back, if that even makes sense at all. But I think all he wanted was an army—loyal soldiers who wouldn’t question his motives.
The only unfortunate thing for him is we all inherited his stubbornness in one way or another. Typically, we would send people like Arloe to Jett and have him evaluate the situation before deciding what to do, but I know if I did that, he would want to keep her for himself. I may have gotten a jealous streak from good ol’ dad, too, because the thought of his hands on her makes me sick. Brother or not, I’d snap his fucking neck before he got something I deemed as mine.
Sure, Arloe isn’t mine, yet, but it won’t take long before she is. My appeal to her may only be because of her looks or that she isn’t like other women I bed. She isn’t afraid to speak her mind when she feels the need, and she stands her ground. Even now, while riddled with fear, she still won’t give in, but if she wants to leave, she will. This will be my way to keep close tabs on her and maybe have some fun in the meantime.
“Look,” she says, pulling me from my thoughts and dragging me back to reality. “Just let me go home. I work right down the street. Feel free to check in, harass me. I don’t care. Just please let me leave. I swear I won’t say anything.” Her eyes are pleading with mine.
I know I should stick to my guns and not risk it, but the thrill of pissing my dad off almost excites me more. Sure, I don’t mind doing work that’s needed, but I like him to know I can make my own decisions, too. I don’t always have to play by the rules for the best results.
“Fine. Leave.” I point to the door with a smirk.
She looks at me with confusion swirling in her eyes, but I don’t say anything else. She takes one step toward the door and stops, almost as if she’s waiting to see if I’ll move. When I don’t, she continues and quickens her pace.
She reaches the door and pulls it open, stopping at the sound of my voice. “I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, amore.”
She pauses long enough to hear me but doesn’t respond. I watch as she sprints down the sidewalk until she’s out of sight. I know Jude won’t be happy about this, but I don’t care. I need to see what she will do. I want to see if I can trust her word. I’ll keep track of her, the people she talks to, and what she does. Arloe doesn’t know it, but by the time I visit her tomorrow, I’ll know more about her than she’s willing to share.
Chapter Three
Arloe
The bell above the door chimes, and I flinch but immediately relax when I see it’s just a customer. All night I tossed and turned, afraid to close my eyes because when I did, what I saw scared me. And honestly, I don’t know what gets to me more—the dreams or the fact that I liked them.
Last night while unable to sleep, I Googled him, remembering his question. No, I haven’t heard of his family, and everything I found online was the musings of gushing reviews. Images of an older gentleman, who I assumed to be his father, though I can’t be certain because there isn’t a resemblance. Some of Easton, and a few of Jude, the mean, burly-looking guy that did nothing to hide the fact that he wanted to kill me.
Thinking about it all, what I saw, the things I heard, Easton’s breath against my neck as I tried to escape, I shiver. The scent of his cologne lingers in my lungs, even now, and no matter how long I showered this morning, I can’t get rid of it. And I’m not sure I want to.
Someone touches my shoulder, and I jump. I inhale, squeezing my eyes tight while dropping the books in my hand to make a fist, only to quickly regain my composure.
“Sorry,” a deep voice says. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Tatum LaRose, you’re hosting my reading today. Are you Arloe?”
It takes me a minute to register his words with his face, but when I do, I reach my hand out to him with wide eyes. “Yes, it’s fine.”
He shakes it, and when we break apart, I squat to pick up the books.
“My mind was just in another place. How are you?” I ask and swipe my hair behind my ear.
Tatum smiles as I look up at him. “I’m well.” He meets me on the floor, handing me books. “Where do you want me?”
“Um.” I glance to my left, trying to find the words I need. “You’re going to be over there near the six-foot table. Greer is still setting up seats, but you can start unpacking if you need. Readers probably won’t arrive until a little before the reading.”
He nods and dusts his palms on the front of his ripped form-fitting joggers. I take him in, instantly pinpointing how different he is to Easton. He’s comfy and edgy with his long-tail tee that’s rolled at the sleeves and black suede kicks. He’s attractive, but most male romance authors are. It’s like they knew they’d be successful in an industry where women worship hot guys.
Tatum licks his lip, letting his gaze linger on mine for a bit. It isn’t until I stand and direct my sights to the pile of books in my hand that he looks away. He wants to say something, I can see it in the way he narrows his eyes, then opens his mouth only to close it again. But almost as if he’s thought better of it, he points his chin at me and turns away, peering back over his shoulder every few seconds.
Greer rushes to my side, taking the books from me. “Give me those. The register is doing that janky thing again where it freezes and then a shit ton of zeros dance on the screen.”
I grunt. “Again,” I whine.
She gives me a pinched smile. “We need a new one,” she announces.
“If only we could afford it,” I spit back on my way to the counter. She’s right, the screen flickers with zeros and makes a low ticking sound.