4

I hop into Deano’s flashy BMW, hands slick with sweat. It smells like an ashtray in here—if there’s anything I despise more than Deano, it’s cigarettes. For obvious reasons, not to mention they reek like garbage marinated in urine.

He swivels toward me, muscles flexing. He’s the type of guy who gives pep talks to his biceps in the mirror. Just a nonstop parade of toxic masculinity and protein powder burps.

“Look who decided to grace me,” he says with a smirk, manspreading aggressively.

“Hey,” I mumble, only meeting his gaze fleetingly. Any longer and I might have to gouge my eyes out with a spoon.

“You just can’t stay away from me, huh?” Deano purrs, his hand inching up my thigh. I swat it away, skin crawling. “People will talk.”

“Cut the crap,” I mutter, staring ahead. “You know why I’m here.”

He tsks. “That’s no way to treat an old friend, Sullivan.”

Friend. Right. Young me thought he was charming. But age brings clarity, unmasking faux chocolates as the turds they are.

Deano thinks he’s some kind of mafia kingpin, all decked out in his black vest, with hair styled like he’s the Godfather and a beard groomed to perfection. But really, he’s just a sad manchild playing dress-up, delusions of grandeur and all.

Self-loathing churns in my gut. I should tell him where to shove it and storm out, middle fingers blazing.

But of course, I remain seated.

“Fifteen grand this time, huh?”

“That’s right.” I keep my voice even.

He whistles through his teeth, leaning back with an exaggerated stretch, hand grazing my seat. I grit my teeth as he drags this out.

Just confirm the damn loan already so I can get out of here.

Finally, he produces an envelope, placing it on his knee. My focus zeroes in on that cash inside.

“Listen, for this amount,” he drawls, “I’ll need a little something extra. A special favor.”

Is he asking me to sleep with him? Damn, am I desperate enough to consider it? I accidentally had drunk sex with him about a million years ago. Now I’d rather deep-throat a cactus.

He lazily taps his fingers on my seat as I eye the envelope. It’s so close yet so far.

Desperation drives you to frightening depths, makes you consider sordid options. I’ve exhausted everything short of selling organs or starring in snuff films.

My credit cards are maxed to the hilt, useless lumps of decorative plastic that mock me every time I try to pay for something. I already work long hours at Vallure, desperately clawing my way up a corporate ladder missing crucial rungs.

A second job? I’d love to see where I could fit that into my schedule—perhaps in those fleeting moments between midnight email marathons and my one a.m. weeping sessions into the pillow.

If by some miracle I scrape Mom’s fees together so they don’t wheel her out into traffic, the credit card companies will be at my door next. Then I’ll be right back here choking on panic in six months. It’s a brutal, endless game of financial whack-a-mole.

Is this rock bottom? Because if so, it can go fuck itself sideways.

Deano’s eyes scan me up and down like he’s trying to figure out how much he could get for me on the black market.

I reflexively cross my arms, skin crawling, as he smirks, dangling the cash. I’m not for sale. “If you think I’ll sleep with you, think again.”

“Still lookin’ down that pretty nose, yet here you are beggin’ for my help. Some thanks I get.” He leans in, reeking of cigarettes. “Let’s make one thing clear. I’m not interested in you.”

“What’s the favor, then?” I grind out.

“Just a little job. Some light entertainment for an evening.”

My jaw drops. “Prostitution? Fuck off.”

I can’t believe I once willingly put this guy’s dick in my mouth, but according to that test I took in Psychology Weekly, I have a thing for assholes with good hair.

His brow lifts and that arrogant smirk tugs at his mouth. “Take it easy. We’re not there yet. I just need you to strike up a conversation with some guy at a hotel bar. Easy.”

My pulse picks up warily. “And after this ‘conversation’? What’s the actual catch?”

“You might just end up lifting his car keys and dropping them my way,” Deano explains with a sly grin.

I suck in a breath, trying to think straight. So he doesn’t want me as a prostitute . . . he wants me as a thief?

“Let me get this straight—you want me to seduce some guy and steal his keys, so you can steal his car?” I ask slowly, grappling with the words coming out of my mouth.

“You catch on real fast.” He grins, like he’s just proposed a harmless round of crazy golf. “Knew you were a smart cookie under all that prickly attitude.”

“Absolutely fucking not. Not happening.”

He shifts impatiently. “Thought you wanted to help your poor mom.” He flicks the envelope against his knee carelessly, like it’s not a huge wad of cash that could solve all my problems.

Benjamin Franklin is in there, winking up at me. I need that money. Otherwise, we’re screwed—Mom gets evicted without care, I quit work to care for her, Grace abandons school to help. With no income, we’ll spiral fast.

“We square away the debt if you do this. Slate wiped completely clean.”

I stare at him. “If I do this, the debt magically disappears? Just like that?”

“That’s right, sweetheart.”

A thrill shoots through me thinking of the breathing room. But my stomach knots up. How did my life unravel like this? I’d almost rather sleep with the sleazeball. “There’s got to be another way.”

“It’s a one-time deal. Take it or leave it.” He starts the engine, signaling he’s done. “Plenty of girls would jump at this. Time’s ticking. Make up your mind.”

“Wait,” I choke out. “I’m not sure I can pull this off.”

Deano gives me a look that’s almost kind. “Trust me, the guy won’t even notice one car missing from his collection. Just last month, he blew a cool million in Vegas. Your part is minor. Worst case? He’ll think he lost his keys during a drunken bender.”

“That doesn’t make it okay.”

My head spins. I’d be an accomplice to grand theft auto, and we ain’t talking a beat-up station wagon here.

“Stop stressing that little head,” he purrs. “Some of these guys actually pay us to lift their cars for the insurance money. They get bored with last year’s model and want the latest thing. You’re basically doing the guy a solid.”

I let out a strangled laugh. “Yeah, I’m sure he’ll be super grateful when he finds his ride missing.”

Deano chuckles. At least one of us is getting a kick out of this nightmare.

I let out a frustrated groan, slumping back in my seat. This kind of stuff only happens in movies, not real life. One minute I’m trying to figure out what’s for dinner, the next I’m cast in the next Fast and Furious.

Looking up at our apartment, I catch Grace twirling around like she’s got no cares in the world. Mental note: remind her to shut the curtains.

“Bossman’s got his eye on Grace, you know. Thinks she’s pretty. He’s interested in taking her out.”

Fury blazes through me. “You tell Bossman he can go to hell. None of you are getting anywhere near my sister, got it?”

In an instant, Deano’s demeanor shifts. He grabs my chin, pulling me closer. I try to jerk away but his grip is iron. “Let’s not forget—you still owe interest,” he says softly, fingers digging in. “My partners aren’t as forgiving as I am. We wouldn’t want anything bad happening to your sister or mom, especially given her health situation.”

His eyes flick meaningfully toward my apartment. The thinly veiled threat paralyzes me.

“I’ll try,” I whisper through numb lips.

“There’s a good girl.” He leans back, satisfied with setting the scene for his next thrilling episode of “Let’s Fuck Up Lexi’s Life.”

“When?” I rasp.              

“Tonight.”

“Are you insane?”

He actually has the nerve to chuckle. “I was thinking next week, but you look like you could use a night out right now.” His gaze sweeps over me. “Take your time getting cleaned up, if you own anything nice. Those ripped jeans might be a hit with me, but I doubt he’ll be into them.”