Caught for Christmas Read online

  The job. Bitterness is sharp on my tongue. This job that will cost me my job. More than that, it will cost me people I’d begun to think of as friends. It will cost me West.

  “I told you I’ll do it.”

  “We have to do it now.”

  She says we, but of course she means that I have to do it now. Not her. “When then?”

  “The night after tomorrow.”

  An incredulous laugh bursts out of me. “Christmas Eve?”

  I’m not sure why I thought that would be sacred to her when nothing else is.

  She looks earnest. “The club will be closed. We have to do it soon.”

  I shake my head, frustrated. “It’s too soon. We aren’t even sure we can get into the security system. We haven’t worked out all the kinks and—”

  “We don’t have a choice.” She takes my hand, her blue eyes startling in their honesty. I’ve never seen her this focused on me before, not in eighteen years as her daughter. She’s the flighty one, while I had to negotiate with the landlord for an extension on our rent. Now she looks dead serious—and worried. “They said they’ll kill him if we don’t bring the money soon. They…they sent me this.”

  She pulls something from her pocket and sets it on the counter. I’ve seen that plain silver band before.

  They once hocked my bike with the ribbons in the handles. They’ve gone for days without food. They’ve traded their last dime for a security code to use on the next score. They give up anything and everything in pursuit of the game, but I’ve never seen Jeb not wearing this ring.

  Now it’s on my cracked kitchen counter, tarnished and coated in dried blood.

  My throat tightens at the threat contained in that small band of silver. It tightens further at the thought of stealing from Candy and Ivan. Candy, because I’d started to respect her, even like her. And Ivan, because everyone in the city knows well enough to fear him. Stealing from him is as bad as stealing from the Caivanos.

  The only difference is that I won’t get caught. I can’t get caught.

  Chapter Three

  The sound of laughter draws me into the dressing room. It’s a foreign sound, but I can’t help but smile along with them. The girls have gathered their chairs and stools in a circle around Amelie. Her tummy is just starting to show, and she stops dancing next week. She holds up a little onesie with a mustache on it that says, Mommy’s Little Man. The group gives a chorus of oohs and ahhs.

  There’s a table set up near the door with gifts and a diaper pail for cash. I’ve been to a few of these baby showers in the time I’ve been working here. The tradition is to give both money—to help out the new mother—as well as something cute to open during the shower. Normally I would throw in a hundred bucks or more. I’m not even close to these girls, but babies are crazy expensive and I like the idea of pitching in. In some ways it’s as close to a family as I’ve ever gotten.

  Only, I don’t have a hundred bucks.

  Maisie took most of my last paycheck. She said she’d use it as a payment toward the debt—a gesture of good faith so they’d give us more time, though obviously that didn’t work.

  And West took the money from the wallet. Or hell, maybe he left it lying on the ground.

  No, most likely he returned it to the rightful owner, along with the wallet. Bastard.

  So I’m flat broke. I press my last five-dollar bill between my fingers, feeling my stomach turn over. Without glancing around, I toss the money inside the diaper pail. It’s shameful, and not only because I’m contributing so little money. It’s shameful because I know I’m going to do worse tomorrow night. I’m going to steal from this place. I’m going to betray their trust.

  “Bianca!”

  I jump at the sound of my name. It feels like everyone stops and turns to face me.

  Amelie smiles and waves me toward her. “Don’t put that on the table. I want to see.”

  Dumbly, I look down at the small package I’m holding. At least I could make this from the supplies in my apartment. I’m not sure I could have made myself show up empty-handed. “It’s nothing,” I manage to say. God, I wish no one was looking at me. “Just something I made.”

  “You made this?” Amelie looks excited, and I curse myself in my head. Why did I say that? I meant that it’s small and probably not even pretty.

  I try to back away while she rips into the tissue paper, but I’m trapped by people and baby clothes all around, forced to stand in the middle of the pile while my lame offering is exposed.

  Amelie squeals as she pulls out the knitted hat—brown with little teddy bear ears. Cute, but it’s not like it was my idea or anything. I saw it once on a kid in a fancy stroller that looked like it belonged in the space age. That hat probably came from some ritzy store that I couldn’t afford. This hat I made myself. I enjoy knitting. It’s something to do with my hands when my body is too sore and tired to move.

  “This is the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen,” Amelie says, sounding awed.

  “It’s amazing,” Candy agrees. “I didn’t know you could knit. You’re so talented.”

  It makes me blush and stammer that their praise seems genuine. I’m not used to that. I’m not used to doing anything right, actually. I prefer to stay in the edges, in the shadows, so that my inevitable fuckups don’t get witnessed by anyone else.

  Everyone is witnessing this, though. The hat is getting passed around, with each person exclaiming over it and rubbing the yarn between their fingers.

  “Do you take commissions?” Vivian asks. “I would love a scarf in this fabric.”

  I’m not sure what I even answer. Something that sounds like yes but really means no. The truth is I’m not even going to be around long enough to make anything. Once I do the job tomorrow, I’ll have to run. That fact feels like acid on my skin. I would have loved to skip work today, but I couldn’t risk raising suspicion.

  Then Amelie is standing, and before I can back away, she has her arms around me. It feels sweet—and painful, because I don’t deserve her gratitude. I don’t even deserve to be here.

  I manage to extricate myself without causing a scene, and they’re already moving on to some game involving baby bottles.

  My stomach feels like it’s going to claw its way out of my throat. Hunger? Okay, sure, but I already tossed my last five dollars into a diaper pail. Besides, as starving as I am, I’m not sure I could keep anything down.

  I press my hand over my mouth and stumble out of the dressing room. I’m not even sure where I’ll go since the Grand opens in an hour, but I have to get out of here.

  My eyes are on the floor, head down—so I don’t see the wall of masculinity in front of me until I slam into it. I know without looking that it’s him. West.

  And God, it’s almost like I want to be caught by him. Like I want to be seen by him, because before I can remember to hide my eyes, I’m looking up. He can see the tears in my eyes.

  Concern darkens his expression. “What’s wrong?”

  I can’t even answer him. I can’t speak. I brush past him—he lets me. The dank outside air feels like freedom, but I know it won’t last for long. I’ll have to go back to dance, and he’ll be there. He’ll be waiting.

  Chapter Four

  I like dancing because of how honest it is. Trading sex for money has been around for centuries. Since the beginning of time, really. Cavewomen who bared their breasts, their bodies would have learned how to trade that for food and protection and warmth. The practice is still around today, part of every relationship—the endless transaction of pleasure and survival.

  Stripping just brings it out in the open, makes the equation a little simpler for everyone to understand. This much for a lap dance and that much for a private show. It’s the opposite of a con because everyone knows what they’re going to get.

  And that’s how I dance—sexual but also straightforward. Some people have called me emotionless. The ice queen. Oh, they’re probably right, but it doesn’t hurt my tips any.<
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  Then Ivan gave the Grand to Candy, and she switched the place over to a burlesque theater. A little more flash, a little less flesh. The biggest difference is that I’m usually dancing with other girls. I have to admit, it’s kind of nice. There’s an energy to the group of us, a collective strength.

  Then the song ends, and I’m alone again.

  Up there I felt nothing but the burn of muscle and beat of music. Now I feel nothing but dread.

  I trail the other girls down the hallway with track lighting on the floor.

  A large body steps in front of me. My heart skips in fear before I recognize him. West. I’m not afraid of him, not in the way I am of most men. At least I know what they want from me, even if I have to worry that they might take it by force. West is looking for something different, and that scares me in a different way.

  His eyes are dark with concern. “Is something wrong?”

  I force myself to give him a cool smile. “Why would you think that?”

  “Maybe because you’re going to make yourself bleed.”

  My gaze flicks down, and I realize my fists are clenched tight, nails pressing into my palms. I open my hands, and white crescents remain in my flesh, bloodless and pained. So I haven’t hidden my tension as much as I’d hoped.

  That’s dangerous. Dangerous because when they discover the club has been robbed, West will remember that I was nervous.

  He’ll know it was me.

  I give him a sultry smile. “Nothing is wrong now that you’re here.”

  He narrows his eyes, not fooled for an instant. He tugs my hand, and then we’re in the dark hallway behind the stage, hidden from view, even from each other. The music moves through us, some familiar Christmas tune, more feeling than sound. “You missed your last shift,” he says.

  My heart squeezes. I’d been trying to find some other way to come up with the cash. Any other way. So I staked out a local check-cashing shop to see if I could get the money that way. Their security was too tight, but the florist shop next door would easy as pie. I’d breeze right past those poinsettias and rich red roses to the register.

  However, they wouldn’t have nearly enough money on hand.

  “I was busy,” I say, walking my fingers up his broad, firm chest. “But I’m here now.”

  He isn’t fooled by my misdirection, but he doesn’t remove my hand either. That’s something.

  He closes his eyes, frustrated and something else. “I wish you’d tell me what’s going on. I wish you’d let me help.”

  Oh sure, that would be great. Please help me steal fifty thousand dollars from a man who would never stop hunting you down. No, he’s too much of a Boy Scout to steal a penny, no matter how much I need it. No matter how much he wants to do the dirty things his dark eyes promise.

  “You can help me by taking me into a VIP room,” I whisper, pressing my body close. Technically there’s not supposed to be naughty business in those rooms since we’re a burlesque show, but some girls still break the rules. I wouldn’t mind breaking them, to throw him off my tracks.

  Wouldn’t mind the extra cash.

  And I wouldn’t mind getting up close and personal with him.

  My hip brushes against something hard and thick. Ooh, very nice. I know that I’d be able to distract him in that room, Boy Scout or not.

  His eyes glaze over, and I know he’s contemplating what we could do in the VIP room.

  “I’d make it good for you,” I whisper.

  He shakes his head as if clearing it. His hands grip my hips, pulling me in close. “No, Bianca. When you come for me, it won’t be because you want to distract me. And it sure as hell won’t be because I’m paying you.”

  I manage a laugh that sounds hollow to my own ears. “I didn’t take you for a cheapskate.”

  His eyes sharpen. “Is that what you need? Money?”

  My breath leaves me in a rush. He hit a little too close to home. I do need money, but I doubt my Boy Scout has a big stash of cash. Not after making shit money in the military for years. Ivan pays well, but he’s only been here less than a year. Only illegal, shady shit like the things Maisie and Jeb are involved with could produce that kind of money.

  I drop my voice. “You have no idea what I need.”

  His fingers tighten briefly on my hips, and surprise flares inside me. So the tamed wolf has spirit after all. Heat forms between my legs, the suggestion whispering through me—what it would be like if he let go.

  I force the thought away, because this can only be a means to an end.

  “Bianca,” he says, his voice thick. “Don’t do this.”

  Panic flares, because he can’t know what I’m going to do. Can he? There’s no way he can know. He only means pushing him away. That’s all. “I’m not doing anything. You’re the one who can’t stop being so damn…” So damn sweet. So damn sexy. God, I can’t stand him. “So damn good all the time.”

  His lids lower. “Is that how you see me?”

  “That’s what you are. A Boy Scout.”

  His smile comes slow and almost lazy. “And you want to see how bad I can be?”

  A shiver runs through my body. The truth is that I like him this way, honorable and kind.

  I just know he’s not made for me. He’d turn away from me if he knew all the things I’d done in my life, all the cons I’ve helped Maisie and Jeb pull off. It won’t matter anyways, because whether West remembers my nervousness or not, whether he suspects me or not, I’ll have to run. I can’t stick around and risk Ivan finding me out once I’ve stolen from him.

  Which means tonight is my last night at the Grand.

  The last time I’ll see West.

  I let something drop—the pretense, the act. When I lean forward, it’s just me. Bianca. No transaction, no trade. Just a gentle kiss of my lips to his, fleeting warmth, a promise unfulfilled.

  “No,” I whisper against his lips. “Don’t change. I like who you are.”

  Then I turn and walk away, leaving him in the dimly lit hallway, the swing of my hips a silent goodbye.

  Chapter Five

  It may seem weird that someone who had committed a felony by the time I turned six would like to knit. The truth is that I learned to pick locks using knitting needles—the circular ones are perfect for small pins and little hands. Plus, throw in some yarn and the whole thing looks innocent, even if your bag gets searched. Of course since then I’ve moved on to more elaborate picks and hooks, professional tools of the underground trade. But I always keep needles, and a skein of yarn, in my bag for luck.

  I tighten my hold on the fraying leather straps, trying to get into the right headspace.

  Except I can’t get into the headspace where I’m cold and calculating.

  All I can think about is West.

  The Grand looms ahead, almost glowing against the pitch dark sky. It looks like a fortress, impenetrable. When I started working here a year ago, security was had been about big muscles, shiny guns, and a bad reputation. Very few people would have dared to steal from Ivan’s pet business, and anyone too high to know better would learn their lesson quickly once his men found them.

  Then someone threatened Candy, Ivan’s favorite girl.

  Now security is a lot tighter, with cameras covering every square inch and laser sensors on every door and window. But I’m constantly casing whatever place I’m in, always monitoring the entry points and exits. I find weak spots in their security system.

  Old habits and all that.

  Which is why I know exactly how to break into the Grand.

  “Bee,” comes a whisper from the alley. I meet Maisie in the shadows, where she slips me a folded piece of paper. “The code to the alarm.”

  Suspicion rises up in me. “Do I even want to know how you got this?”

  “Of course not,” she says as if she doesn’t care. Because she doesn’t. Whatever illegal or unethical thing she had to do doesn’t matter. Whoever got hurt doesn’t matter.

  Trade up. All that matte
rs is that she got what she wanted.

  Right now I can’t even blame her. Some very scary men have Jeb. They won’t be treating him well. And if we don’t get them their money, they won’t ever let him go.

  The paper is cool between my thumb and forefinger. “This means you can come in with me.”

  She shakes her head, a flash of white-blonde hair in the dark. “I’ll stand guard. That was always the plan.”

  The plan had been for her to cut the alarm. I’d be ready to go inside the second the alarm went dead. And she would stand guard, because it didn’t make sense for her to catch up. I’m the safe cracker in the family. Maisie has the smile, and Jeb has the charm. And me? I’ve had a good ear for clicks ever since I was a little girl.

  Now that she doesn’t need to cut the alarm, she could come in with me. And the fact that she doesn’t want to has more to do with hedging her bets than keeping a lookout.

  “Fine,” I say, my teeth clenched. I tell myself for the millionth time that I won’t be sucked into any of their schemes, but how can I even believe my own lies? The second they show up on my doorstep with some sob story—and some crazy violent assholes on their tail—I’m back to doing their bidding.

  She puts her hand on my arm. “Bee, don’t be upset. You need to go in calm. Clear your mind.”

  I close my eyes and squeeze them tight. I do need a clear mind if I’m going to crack that safe. “You’ll be here when I get out?”

  I hate how small my voice sounds, how childlike.

  “Of course,” she says in that carefree way. And I know better than to believe her.

  It’s something else that pulls me across the street, something else that makes me climb the metal gate. A sense of duty. Or maybe something darker. The fear that if I don’t do this, if I turn my own parents away from my door, I’ll have no one left.

  The cameras sweep over the courtyard in an irregular pattern, but I’ve watched it. I’ve learned it. And I use that knowledge now to evade them, pausing behind the broken fountain before running across the broken cobblestones.