I opened the cabinet next to the sink and froze. “Are these your glasses?” Slowly, I pulled one out. On the shelf above were plates and bowls I recognized as Mama’s favorites. My parents had had them since they were married. We’d eaten off them all my life.
“Look at me.”
That tone of voice, the one with the strength of a hundred men and more backbone than I’d ever hope to possess, was almost enough to make me do it immediately. But whatever she had to say, I didn’t want to hear. I’d done enough shitty things for six lifetimes, and today was the culmination of the worst. She didn’t even know about that yet.
“Drew Harris.”
Shit. I felt like I was ten again. I’d gotten myself in deep and screwed up things with my family. Done things to them there was no excuse for.
I filled the glass with whiskey I’d lifted from one of the executive’s offices at Starlight Petroleum Energy. Then I slid Mama a bottle of water across the counter.
“Mama, I love you, but there’s nothing you can say—”
“I’m the reason you aren’t rotting in prison right now, so you sure as hell are going to listen to me.”
I clutched the glass instead of doubling over like I wanted to. Her words were a sucker punch to the stomach even though they were true. What did I think? Dad, Easton, and Mulaney would want anything less than the worst punishment possible?
“I didn’t—”
“Don’t lie to me.” Steely determination stared at me across the island. “And don’t make me look like I was wrong.”
How was I supposed to do that? She was wrong, though I’d never admit that to any of my family. Once they sank their teeth into what they thought I’d done, they wouldn’t let it go. I’d never conceded a thing. As long as I drew breath, I wouldn’t.
“What happened to you?” Her face contorted in pain as if it was her fault I’d turned out so terrible.
I shrugged. Life had happened to me. This was who I was. I didn’t have to apologize to anyone for that, not even Mama. Though her sad look kind of made me want to.
“What’s Dad going to say when he finds out you’re here?” My lip curled into a sneer at the mention of my father. He’d assumed the worst about me. Even though he was right, the benefit of the doubt would’ve been nice.
“Not a word.” She twisted the cap on the water bottle, but it didn’t give. When she couldn’t open it, I unscrewed the cap and placed it back in front of her. “Stop avoiding the subject.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” I drained the whiskey in my glass and ignored the disappointment coming from her as I poured another glass.
“I don’t want you behind bars, especially while I’m dying.”
“Mama—”
She held up her hand. “It’s a reality, and there’s no reason to avoid it.” I wanted to. “But you can’t get away with what you’ve done.”
“You want me to turn myself in?” I didn’t bother hiding the sarcasm. Out of everyone, I thought Mama would have my back.
“No, I don’t think that would accomplish anything. I have something more important for you to do. You’re going to do community service.”
I snorted. Was she kidding? Like I should be anywhere around people. “I don’t think so.”
“At Paths of Purpose,” she continued as if I hadn’t protested. “Starting tomorrow, you’ll go there every day for the foreseeable future.”
“I have a company to run.” And I wasn’t wasting my time at whatever that place was Mama was trying to send me. I didn’t have the time. If I didn’t figure out a way to make some serious money stat . . .
“I’ve already spoken with Mrs. Quinn. She’s willing to let you volunteer there because I’ve expressed your eagerness to do whatever she needs.”
I rubbed my face with my hand. “Why would you tell someone that? And what kind of place is this?” I couldn’t cook, so I’d be of no use in a soup kitchen. Hell, I didn’t even know how to do laundry. And they could all kiss my ass if they thought I’d pick up trash off the side of the street.
I had so much on my mind now, and with the mess I’d gotten myself into, I didn’t need something trivial on my plate.
“An abused women and children shelter.”
I stared at her. Seriously. That was the last place a man like me needed to be. I fucked willing women in no less than twos.
“No.”
She looked at her lap for a moment before she lifted her gaze to mine. “Then I have to do the right thing.”
A tingling began at the base of my neck. What did that even mean?
“Four thirty in the morning. Be ready.”
“Four thirty?” It wouldn’t even be daylight yet.
“If you aren’t there, I’m going to the authorities.”
Chapter Two
Sonya
“Where is it?”
I batted my lashes instead of wiping the spit that had landed on my cheek.
“What?” I ran my finger down his arm clad in a Dormeuil suit, the vicuna fabric soft to the touch. If seduction was the best means of distraction, so be it.
Tamas Levitt took a step closer. His nostrils flared. Hot, cigar-stained air blasted into my face. “You know what.”
Stay cool. Stay. Cool.
I toyed with his coat sleeve and smirked. “I really don’t.”
There were many shades of red when it came to emotions. An embarrassed shade with an almost pinkish hue. A bright red caused from too much laughter.
Crimson. The volatile red of anger.
I couldn’t pinpoint Tamas’s exactly, but it didn’t look healthy.
“The. Coin.”
I tilted my head, then blinked at him a few times as if trying to dig into the far recesses of my mind. I even went so far as to press my index finger to my lips. Apparently, that gesture was too over the top.
Tamas yanked on my wrist. I stumbled forward until our noses were pressed together. “This is the last time I will ask. Where. Is. It?”
Could the man not speak in full sentences? Every word was enunciated in his thick Hungarian accent.
I faked a light bulb going off in my brain. “Let’s look for it,” I suggested brightly. “Where is it supposed to be?”
His mouth pressed together in a thin line. His breath in my face had been irritating before. Now it was suffocating.
“Do not play games with me.”
I cupped his jowls in my hands and stared up at him. “Never.”
Okay, so that was a big fat lie, but it seemed to give him pause.
Then he swatted my hands away and grabbed me by the hair. That was short-lived. “Tamas,” I screeched.
He said nothing, dragging me toward his study by my curls. Did I mention how big his apartment was? Like a whole floor monstrosity. It was one of the reasons I’d hung around. The shower was like a car wash with jets and nozzles and— “Ow. Ow. Ow.”
Good Lord, this man had an iron grip. I bent forward in an attempt to ease the tension on my scalp. That did no good. It was a wonder a clump of my hair wasn’t in his fist.