Collateral Read online

  Aston had gone ghostly pale. She seemed just as surprised that she had actually hit him. The fear etched into her beautiful face was easy enough to read now. His gut twisted, and he loathed himself for causing such fear in a woman. Her lower lip wobbled precariously. "I'm sorry."

  "Don't." He fixed her with an angry glare. "When you hit someone, own it." Then, because she seemed like the sort of girl who needed a lesson in the realities of the world, he added, "The next time you hit a man like that you better be prepared to keep on fighting or run."

  She turned up her dainty little nose rather haughtily. Her defiance should have pissed him off, but—God help him—he found that being smacked by her and then sneered at only made him want to claim those pouty lips of hers even more.

  "There won't be a next time. I don't make a habit of hanging around men who think they can put their hands on me like you did. I prefer a better class."

  Her words stung him, but he snorted derisively, pretending she hadn't hit her mark. "Next time borrow your money from a better class."

  "I told you! I didn't borrow any money. I don't need to borrow money."

  "Your brother did, and he came to us."

  Her lips parted but no sound followed. Confusion was plain on her face. She seemed to be considering something very carefully. Finally, she spoke. "You didn't steal the car. You repossessed it as collateral for a loan Calvin took from your boss."

  Her betrayed expression convinced him he had misjudged the situation. "You didn't know?"

  "Of course I didn't know!" She shot him a withering look. "That car means the world to me! If I had known that my stupid stepbrother had taken out a loan using Baby as collateral, I would have marched over to one of your boss' strip clubs and tossed a suitcase of money at him."

  "You named the car Baby?" He tried not smirk, but it was too precious.

  She sobered. "My father named her. Baby was his car. Now she's mine. Calvin had no right to use her as collateral."

  "Well, he did, and he didn't make any of the payments. This is the price of going back on his word." It wasn’t any of his business, but he had to ask. "Why didn't your brother come to you for the money he needed?"

  "Stepbrother," she said icily. "He's my stepbrother. He's not my real family."

  "Family is family." He thought of the people who loved him like a brother but shared none of his blood—Besian, Zec, Devil. If that was the way she saw her stepbrother, as someone unfit to be part of her family, no fucking wonder he had screwed her over by taking her car and using it as collateral in a loan he had probably never intended to pay.

  "Family?" She scoffed with a harsh laugh. "Family doesn't push you down the stairs and break your arm on the morning your parents are getting married. Family doesn't roofie you, tie a bow around your neck and leave you in a pool house as a gift for a friend's birthday. Family doesn't miss your father's funeral to ransack your house for all the valuables that aren't nailed down."

  Her eyes glittered with fury and hurt. For the first time in a long fucking time, Ben experienced the urge to comfort someone…to care. He shoved it down just as quickly as it appeared. He had cared once and only once. After his mother had wasted away in hospice, he had vowed he would never care again. He wasn't about to break that vow now.

  "If you'll give me back the car, I'll pay whatever Calvin owes plus interest and any other fees your boss wants to tack onto the account."

  "That's not my decision to make. I can't negotiate something like that."

  "So let's go visit your boss—"

  "He's out of town. He won't be back until next week."

  "Well…then…," she trailed off as she considered her options. "What if I trade you Baby for another car from the collection? Or two cars? Hell, I'll give you three or four of them if that's what you want."

  Ben thought that was more than fair, but it wasn't his job to make those decisions. "I'll have to call the boss."

  "So call him." She gestured to the phone on his desk. "I'll go find Baby and keep her company."

  "The car isn't here."

  "Where is she?"

  "That car went straight to the storage containers to wait for shipment."

  She exhaled with apparent relief. "So you didn't chop it up?"

  "Do I look stupid to you? I boosted that one myself, just to be sure it was handled properly."

  "You know what that car is worth, right?"

  "Yes." He waited to see if she would mention an amount. "What's wrong? You don't want to talk money? Is that gauche?"

  "Look at you! Using those big words. The libraries in juvenile detention must have benefited from all those literacy fundraisers my stepmother used to host." She cast a daring glance his way. "Well? Isn't that how you want me to talk to you?"

  "That's not—" He clenched his jaw together. "How did you know I was in juvie?"

  Her face softened. "I didn't. I just—I'm sorry. I shouldn't have taken the bait."

  Grudgingly, he said, "I shouldn't have been such a dick."

  "I have a feeling you probably have a reason for your attitude toward me."

  "Why would you say that?"

  She shrugged. "My dad made a lot of money and a lot of enemies. You wouldn't be the first person to have a grudge against me for something I never did."

  Her matter-of-fact statement left him feeling lower than dirt. He had judged her to be one thing but was having second thoughts. Maybe there was more to Aston McNeil than the vapid stories would have him believe. The glimpses he was getting were helping him paint a picture of a young woman who had been born into privilege but who had suffered regardless.

  "Ben?"

  He liked the way his name sounded coming from her sweet mouth. "Yes?"

  "Why did you try to undress me?"

  "To see if you were wearing a wire," he answered truthfully.

  Her anxious gaze met his, but she stared unwaveringly at him while shrugging out of her jacket. Extending it on one finger, she offered it to him and he took it. His mouth went dry as she lifted the bottom of her striped top and revealed the sloping plane of her tanned belly. She bared her lacy bra to him, the sheer, pale pink teasing him and making him wonder if her nipples were that same shade.

  Turning around, she showed him her back before spinning to face him again and letting her top fall. When she gripped the bottom of her skirt, she might as well have stomped the gas pedal controlling his heart. His pulse revved up like a throttled engine. Inch by tantalizing inch, she uncovered her thighs. It was a better striptease than he had ever seen in one of the clubs the family owned. Not even the highest paid dancers had made his cock throb like this.

  She kept her gaze trained on his face, her mouth curved with a hint of a shy smile, and continued lifting her skirt. When he got his first glimpse of her panties, his dick leapt with utter fucking joy. Ben had never seen panties like these. No doubt they cost more than he spent on groceries for a month but damn! They were so fucking sexy. In that same soft shade of pink as her bra, they were sheer like a fine net. Two embroidered shells covered the area he wanted to see most.

  He noticed the tops of her thighs were flushed now, her skin bright red and betraying her embarrassment. Or maybe it was her excitement, he thought after glancing at her pretty face. Her lips were parted on a pitched breath. He caught a peek at her soft, pink tongue and it made him think about even softer, pinker parts that he wanted to see.

  "Do you trust me now?" She held her skirt up high, still showing off her skimpy panties.

  "I'm getting there." He made a sudden decision, one that he would probably come to regret. "The boss will have the final say on the debt, but since he's out of town, there's a good chance your car—your Baby—will be gone by the time he gets back. So I'll get your car back to you tonight and deal with the fallout from my boss—on one condition."

  "Anything," she said, her fingers clenching the fabric of her skirt even tighter.

  Would she agree so quickly once she heard his terms? There was on
ly one way to find out. "You belong to me for a week as collateral."

  She blinked twice. "Belong to you? You mean…?"

  Holding his breath, he nodded slowly. "You're mine for seven days and seven nights."

  Aston stared at him for a long, tense moment. Her fingers straightened, and she dropped her skirt, smoothing out the fabric with deliberate sweeping motions. Taking a step toward him, she extended her hand and held his gaze. "Deal."

  Chapter Two

  On trembling legs, I exited Ben's office and prayed Marley wouldn't be able to read the truth on my face. I spotted her leaning against the toolbox. Her eyes narrowed when she saw us. I joined her while Ben spoke to Devil in their shared language. I fought the urge to glance back at the tattooed mob enforcer who had just extracted the filthiest promise from me.

  The wicked thrill of anticipation that raced through me left me feeling uncertain and confused. Why wasn't I ashamed? Why wasn't I disgusted with myself for trading my body for a car?

  Long ago, my father had taught me the art of negotiation. Know when you're beat, he had warned. Get out early. Sell first. Close the deal.

  That's what I had done in the office. I couldn't take the chance that Ben's boss might take days to answer my request. The clock was already running. If I wanted Baby back, I had to make hard choices.

  Not that it had been that hard of a choice, I silently acknowledged. When he had pinned me to that door, I had damn near fainted. Slapping him had been a dangerous move, but deep down, I had known he wouldn't hurt me. He seemed to enjoy pushing me though, scaring me as if to remind me that he wasn't like the men of my social circles. He had asked if I was playing a game¸ but he seemed to be the one playing with me.

  "Well?" Marley tugged on my hand and turned her back to shield us as we talked with heads close together. "What did he say?"

  "He said yes."

  She looked unconvinced. "Just like that?"

  "Sort of," I said, unwilling to lie totally to my best friend.

  "Sort of?" Marley repeated. Her eyes widened slightly as she chanced a quick peek at Ben and caught sight of the bright red mark on his cheek. Judging by the amused glances from the men, she wasn't the only one who could see the faint outline of my fingers on his skin. Lowering her voice, she whispered, "Did you smack him?"

  I had the decency to look apologetic. "Yes."

  "Do I want to know why?"

  "Probably not." I swallowed and glanced over my shoulder to see Ben waiting for me to finish up and follow him. "I have to go. He's taking me to get Baby. I'll call you when I get home."

  "Be careful, Aston. Ben might let you get away with hitting him but the rest of this crew? Don't push your luck. Be smart. Get your car. Get the hell away from these guys."

  I took her warning to heart. "I'll call you when I'm home."

  "If anything happens—"

  "I'll call you."

  Reluctantly, she let go of my hand. Ben held my gaze for a moment before pivoting on his heel and striding toward a rear exit. His aloof treatment aggravated me but still I trailed after him like a stupid little puppy running after her master. For a girl who had gotten used to always being in control, there was something oddly intriguing about the way Ben didn't defer to me. I didn't like it, exactly, but I didn't hate it either.

  I grimaced at the mugginess of the hot August night that greeted me, but Ben mistook the look for distaste at the mode of transportation he now offered.

  Shoving his helmet toward me, he growled, "I'm sorry if the lady doesn't approve of the bike, but not all of us have the luxury of car collections worth millions of dollars and a different ride for each day of the week."

  "For your information, I drive the same freaking Jeep every day." I snatched the helmet and fought the mounting desire to smack him with it. "I wasn't making a face because of your motorcycle. I was making a face because of this awful wet heat."

  "Yeah. Sure you were." He jerked the helmet out of my hands and pressed it onto my head. I held perfectly still as he carefully guided it into place, making sure not to catch my earrings or my hair. He tightened the chin strap before buckling it into place. His tattooed knuckles brushed my skin and an arc of delicious anticipation burned through me.

  Suddenly, I couldn't stop thinking about his rough hands lingering on other parts of me. For a moment, I thought he might be imagining the same thing. His hands had gone still, and he peered down at me with utter confusion reflected in his pale eyes. Then realization dawned. He didn't know what he was doing with me. He wanted to dislike me but he was helping me. He was breaking some rule and he didn't know why.

  Grunting, he dropped his hands. A second later, he snatched my cell phone from my fingers, shoved it into his back pocket where it would be safe during the ride and turned toward his bike. I didn't know much about motorcycles. My father had always referred to them as two-wheeled deathtraps and had forbidden me from ever getting on one. Ben's bike wasn't flashy like the ones I had seen at car and bike shows over the years. It was the perfect combination of staid black with gleaming chrome, powerful and intimidating.

  He carelessly slung his leg over the seat, and I couldn’t stop staring at the taut denim stretched across his perfect backside. My gaze traveled along the beautifully violent swaths of tattoos running from his fingers to his shoulders and disappearing under his shirt. God, how I wanted to know where those tattoos ended. His chest? His belly? His legs?

  Standing behind him, I could now see the massive double-headed eagle inked onto his back. The monstrous and intimidating sigil was easily visible through the thin white fabric of his sleeveless, tight tank. I had always found these so-called wife-beater shirts disgusting but not on Ben. It made him look sexy and dangerous.

  "You plan on standing there all night?" He glanced back at me with irritation. His mouth pursed with unhappiness as he took in my bare legs. "Next time you ride with me, you'll wear jeans."

  A secret thrill coursed through me at the mention of a next time. Glad that I had chosen the fuller, looser skirt this morning instead of the pencil, I bared my thighs to his view for the second time in less than twenty minutes and climbed onto the motorcycle. The big, black beast roared to life beneath me. I tried to find a place to put my feet but couldn't find a natural spot.

  As if sensing my uncertainty, Ben reached down and clasped my ankle. He dragged my right foot into the right position, resting the toes of my pumps on a shiny peg before reaching down on the left side to do the same. Before I had a chance to get comfortable, he grabbed my hands and tugged them forward, pulling my arms around his waist. His fingertips grazed the back of my hand and trailed a line to my elbow before doubling back again. His feather-light touch awakened my entire body. The very core of me hummed with need.

  Forced to lean forward, I pressed my cheek to his back. That masculine scent of him intoxicated me. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the vibrations of the bike as he eased out of the parking lot and onto the closest street. Holding onto this mysterious man and feeling the rush of wind against my bare skin, I finally understood why my father had forbidden me from riding on a motorcycle. He hadn't been afraid that I would be hurt by the bike. No, he had been afraid of the men who liked to ride them. They were far, far more hazardous to his baby girl than the two wheels and chrome they sat upon.

  Opening my eyes, I enjoyed the whir of vehicles, lights and buildings flashing before me. Ben drove fast, but I had a feeling he was using more caution than usual with the added cargo clinging to his back. A strange feeling, one suspiciously akin to jealousy, speared me as I wondered how many other women had sat on this seat and held onto him as I did now. It was an irrational, weak thought that I detested almost immediately.

  Yet I couldn't stop thinking about it. Ben Beciraj, with his strong arms and handsome face and that dangerous glint in his eyes, probably had women falling all over him. Marley had told me about the Albanian crime family and their business interests around Houston. Stealing cars and loan sharking were the tip
of the iceberg for this crew. They also dealt in escorts and strip clubs. Surely Ben had his pick of those long-legged, curvy beauties who danced for money on the stages of the clubs owned by his boss. The image of Ben finding pleasure with a gorgeous, lithe dancer twisted my stomach.

  Stop it! Remember who he is. Remember what he is. Remember what he made you promise!

  But even thinking of the promise he had extracted from me didn't make me want him any less. That was a far more maddening discovery.

  We flew down the freeway until the bright flares and white plumes of smoke from the refineries came into view. He turned down a dimly lit street and eased off the throttle. The rumbling purr of the engine ricocheted off the seemingly endless rows of storage containers that surrounded us. This close to the refineries and the waterways of the port I wasn't surprised by the abundance of storage facilities. For all I knew, my father's holding company—my holding company now, I gently reminded myself—owned part or all of some of them.

  He turned down a row of containers, drove three-quarters of the way down, and rolled to a stop. He killed the engine and reached back to pat my hip. I understood the silent instruction and climbed off of the bike first. My inner thighs were still vibrating and my legs were warm from the heat of the engine and exhaust. The night air, though muggy and hot, felt cool against my chest without the added heat of Ben's body pressed against mine.

  Smoothly rising from his bike, Ben turned toward me and reached for the strap on my helmet. Just as carefully as before, he took away the helmet and placed it on the seat. My nose twitched at the sulfurous scent that surrounded us.

  "What's wrong, sugar? Does the smell remind you of poor, working class people?"

  Deciding I had had enough of his bitter remarks, I punched his upper arm. He actually smirked at my attack, probably because my fist bounced off his steely muscles like a child's might. He caught my fist before I could yank it back, but his grip wasn’t cruel. "You planning on hitting me again or running?"

  "Depends on whether you intend to cut the asshole act or not," I answered bravely. "There's no one here you need to impress with the hard ass routine. It's just us. Just you and me."