Bend Me, Daddy

A black SUV was parked just a few feet from the door. "I can follow you to the hotel," I told him, working hard to keep the panic out of my voice. "That way, you don't have to worry about bringing me back here for my car. Is it the same place you were staying before?"

He didn't bother to respond to my generous offer, and I took that as a no.

Once we reached the SUV, Enzo helped me into the passenger seat and set the tote at my feet. But instead of closing the door, he opened my bag and started digging around inside. "Hey! That's my stuff!"

"Is this your stuff?" He held up an expensive lighter made of champagne gold and diamonds.

I felt my face burn, but I'd been so nervous all night I was honestly surprised that was the only thing that wound up in my tote. I didn't know how he saw me take it from the other table in my section when even the owner of the lighter didn't, but apparently, he had. "I grabbed it accidentally. I would've returned it to Lost and Found tomorrow when I came in."

He studied me a moment. "Stay here. I'll be right back." Closing the door, he walked back into the club.

I watched him go, one hand on the door handle. My car was parked off to the side of the lot. I had my keys. All I had to do was jump out and run to my car. I could be gone by the time he came back outside.

But what good would that do? He'd just come back tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that, until I went with him. And maybe the next time, he wouldn't ask so nicely. So I might as well get it over with.

My eyes skittered around the interior. Same as last time, the vehicle looked like it had just come back from being detailed. I opened the center console, then the glove box. Both were empty. Nothing to identify the man who drove it.

I was still sitting there when he returned. If he noticed that I wanted nothing more than to bolt, he didn't mention it. Just started the engine and pulled away. We rode along in silence for about ten minutes before he said, "Is it money?" Startled from my daydream of escape as I watched the city go by, I turned and studied his profile. "What?"

"The reason you steal. Is it because you need money?" He never took his eyes off the road. Behind his sunglasses, I caught a glimpse of long, dark lashes as we drove under a streetlight.

I didn't want to talk about my affliction, as I liked to call it. Not with him. "Is it because you're trying to hide something?" I countered. "Is that why you always wear those dark glasses?" One corner of his mouth turned up. "Touché."

"You know, we could just talk right here in the car as we drive around," I continued. "There's no reason to drag me up to your hotel room." I was getting more and more nervous by the minute that he was leading me into a trap. Was someone waiting there to drag me back to my father? "Or we could stop and get a coffee somewhere or something."

"The only place open around here this late is Denny's, and their coffee tastes like shit."

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I waited for him to say more, and wasn't surprised when he didn't. Tears filled my eyes. It looked like my taste of freedom was over before it ever really began. I wasn't too proud to beg, but I knew it wouldn't do me any good. I mean, just look at him. Even wearing a suit, I could tell this guy had a body that was hard and unforgiving, and he had a personality to match. Plus, he was mafia. He wouldn't care about my life or what was waiting for me when I got back. So I kept silent and wondered how badly I'd break my ankle in these heels if I jumped from the moving vehicle before we stopped.

As if he knew exactly what I was thinking, Enzo wrapped his fingers around my wrist and hung on as he turned the wheel one handed and pulled into the circle drive in front of the hotel. He didn't release me even when we stopped. Shifting the car into park, he took off his seatbelt and angled his body toward mine, ignoring the young girl outside waiting to park the car for him. A good-looking guy with blond hair opened my door with a smile, but closed it again when Enzo shook his head at him. "There's no one waiting upstairs," he told me. And again, I wondered if he could read minds or if I was just that fucking obvious. "It'll just be you and me. And I just want to talk. Okay?"

I didn't see where I had much of a choice. "Okay," I answered.

He released my wrist and opened his door, tossing his keys to the attendant before walking around the front of the car and saying something to the blond guy that sent him scurrying back to his stand by the entrance of the hotel as Enzo opened my door for me and helped me out, then he grabbed my tote from the floorboard and carried it inside for me.

I noticed the way he scanned the area around him constantly. He'd done the same thing at the club, always watching for trouble, and I wondered if he was even aware that he did it. All I could think of was how exhausting it must be to always be on alert like that. I supposed all mafia men lived that way, just waiting for someone to take them out for some imagined-or very real-slight. Or just to get them out of the way.

As he escorted me inside, my skin felt cold and clammy, and my lungs felt too tight to draw a full breath. Even though he'd told me I had nothing to worry about and I'd agreed to come with him, I couldn't help the sense of dread that came over me as we crossed the foyer with its high ceilings and white columns, my heels clicking on the marble floors a countdown to the demise of my freedom. And possibly my life.