And I’ve got hours until Win is done with his party.
In the bathroom, I find a ceiling vent. It’s perfect.
Pulling a penny from my travel bag, I undo the screws and take off the metal grate cover.
Inside the pipe, I punch a hole. Carefully, I feed the items through the hole. They’ll be a bitch to retrieve but that isn’t my problem.
The pashmina I leave on, because it’s soft and pretty. And because it’s the perfect taunt.
Am I ruining the scent, covering hers with mine? He deserves it. Then I prop myself up on my pillows to wait.
There is no way a man like Win will leave this affront unanswered. It’s a dangerous game I’m playing. He’s already proven his strength, and I don’t know his nature. Not really. But I’m playing to win.
If I don’t get my money back, there is nothing left for me anyway. It was my only path forward.
After about an hour, I start to drift off. It’s been a long few days and I don’t expect to see Win for hours yet.
But I’ve no more than fallen asleep when the door to my room bangs open.
I jump, despite myself, my sleepy gaze clashing with his.
“What have you done?” He’s in his trousers and dress shirt, his jacket is gone, tie gone, and his shirt is partially undone.
I’m up on my knees in a heartbeat. “What have I done? What have you done? Where is my money?”
He shows his teeth. “That is hers. Take it off.”
I toss it off, exposing my ribs and stomach. They’re as bad as my back. He stops, his gaze drifting down me. “You had no right to take her things.” But his voice has lost some of its edge.
My hands come to my hips. “You had no right to take my money.”
Slowly he walks toward me, looking every inch like a predator stalking his prey. But I don’t budge. “Give me back her things.”
“Give me my money.”
His lips curls. “Money? She was going to be my wife. How dare you…”
“How dare you!” I point my finger toward my own body. “Look at me,” I gesture down my torso.
“I see you.” His eyes have taken on an unexpected wariness.
“Every one of these scars is a reminder of the man who was supposed to love me but never did.”
I see Win’s wince. I know I’ve got his attention now.
“The only thing he ever gave me, and he didn’t even mean for it to be a gift, was the casino that I sold to your brother to buy my freedom. And you—” I point my finger again, jabbing it in his direction, “have taken both that freedom and the money from me. You want to tell me about how this is personal for you? Go right ahead. But don’t think for one second that you didn’t start this shit. That you didn’t get personal first. And if this is the moment I’m supposed to feel sorry that I wore her shawl, fuck the fuck off Winston Smith.”
He's slowed his pace now, but he keeps moving closer, a silent predator in my bedroom. Not that I’m clocking the danger. I’m too far gone, the anger burning me with it.
“And try to intimidate me by backing me against a wall again, and I’ll cut your balls off.” I slice my hand through the air, the anger burning so bright, I think I could light the room on fire.
He's right in front of me now, his hand snakes out, faster than I can respond, and suddenly, I’m moving up through the air, and then I land on my back on the bed.
He’s over me in a hot second. “Do not threaten me, Kat.”
“Or what? You’ll hurt me?” I sneer up at him, daring him to prove that he’s just as awful as my father.
“No.” And then one of his hands comes to my abdomen, covering my scars. The weight of his legs pin mine to the bed. His eyes hold my gaze. “I wouldn’t hurt you and I never should have made you feel like I would.”
