Fraud (Antihero Inferno Book 2) Page 5

  “My house is nice, but not as flashy as this. Dad wanted me close, so he bought me a place in Greenwood Estates.”

  She shakes her head, her arms wrapping around her body as if that will protect her from the man who sits at her side.

  “My dad is insanely overprotective,” she explains.

  About that, she’s not lying. I had Taylor look into Ivy’s life since high school, a full ten-year review of how a woman who used to fight back, regardless of how low she had to go to get even, became this. It’s depressing, really, to see her comfortably wrapped in the soft blanket of a socialite’s life, to see her accept such a shitty fate.

  I’d expected more from her.

  From what Taylor could find, Ivy hasn’t acted up since the day she was shipped off to college. Her grades were good. She never had a disciplinary record. Her friends are all typical spoiled snobs, and she came back home after completing a business degree to settle into the life her father created for her.

  He bought her the house she lives in. Always insists she have a driver. Her bank account and credit cards are all tied to his name.

  She does absolutely nothing for herself, and it makes me sick to think about it.

  Even her social media accounts are a cure for insomnia, all her posts focused on clothes, food or her vacations to the usual places.

  All the fire that used to exist in this woman has been expertly snuffed out by her politician daddy, and I grieve for who she used to be. Although I can’t begrudge how easy of a target that makes her.

  Sadly, his plan to subdue his daughter for the purposes of protecting her - or maybe more to the truth, for protecting his career - has resulted in the opposite. She’s too simple now, a soft, fluffy lamb that doesn’t know to run when a wolf is stalking after her.

  “Greenwood is nice,” I say, although we both know it’s bullshit. Not that it’s a bad neighborhood. The houses all cost in the millions. But it’s still not what most consider influential.

  Even in school, we would refer to those outside our circle as the Greenwood kids, those who lived comfortable lives but still had no claim to fame. They were second tier to our first.

  “That’s crap and you know it,” she says on a laugh. “Stop lying.”

  Ivy’s shoulders relax on that response, the tension that existed between us bleeding away as she shifts her position enough that she’s turned toward me.

  I grin as soon as her eyes lock to mine.

  “We should just go ahead and get to what’s strange about this moment. We’ve always hated each other. And we’ve done some shitty things. But I like to think we can move past that now that we’re adults, right?”

  Sure. Anything you say, beautiful...

  Shifting in my seat so that I’m leaning a shoulder against the backrest, I intentionally face her directly, the space between us closing in tiny increments that won’t spook her like the skittish bunny she is.

  “Age does have a habit of calming people down.”

  Another laugh, her lashes batting over blue eyes that have rarely looked at me like I’m human.

  It was a mistake on her part many years ago to believe I wasn’t fucked up enough to hurt her like I did, a momentary accident that we never repeated.

  Our history isn’t only the pranks we pulled and the punches we threw, it also has regrettable moments where Ivy saw beneath my easy smile and witnessed what exists beneath.

  I always hated that she knew what she did about me. And maybe it’s a large part of why she was my favorite target. It wasn’t the girl I wanted to destroy; it was the memory she carried in her pretty head.

  I can still feel the rain from that night - that accident between us - every freezing drop stabbing my skin like knives.

  Shaking it off, I focus on the present.

  “My point is that we should start over, pretend like we never knew each other before this moment.”

  She scoots closer, and so do I. It’s almost as if her polarity has reversed and instead of shoving away, we’re now pulled together like magnets.

  Before I left the house, Tanner warned me that Ivy is still the same, that she would be right back to her old tricks given the right opportunity.

  I think the bastard was too tied up in his bullshit with Luca to hear what I was telling him, making him wrong on all accounts.

  That’s bad for Ivy.

  But good for me.

  The car takes a corner as it pulls into heavier traffic, the motion as good an excuse as any for me to slide closer. We’ll blame simple physics for propelling me toward Ivy and not my need to draw her into my orbit.

  So easy, this task.

  It’s almost boring.

  But then, nothing is completely boring when I have a hot as fuck blonde staring me down, especially one as tempting as this.

  “Anyway,” she says, a soft purr to her voice that rubs me in all the right places, “I’m hoping you have changed enough that you’ll help me with this thing with Tanner. Without my dad, I’m screwed. If I disobey him...”

  Interesting word choice, I think. It’s wrong that the thought of her obeying anyone turns me the fuck on.

  It also turns me the fuck off because I’d enjoyed her spitfire attitude when she was younger. I prefer a woman who bites back.

  “...he’ll kick me out of my house and never help me again.”

  Pathetic.

  Absolutely. Fucking. Pathetic.

  She’s the Raging Bitch Formally Known as Ivy, and this replacement sitting in front of me is nothing more than a cheap imitation.

  Honestly, if it were anybody else, I would open the car door, jump out at forty miles per hour or however fast we’re going and take my chances with the cement rather than endure any more of this conversation.

  Still, I have a job to do.

  And a score to settle.

  So here we are.

  Our bodies scoot closer again as the car veers into a parking lot. It sucks that the seatbelt keeps me from getting too close for Ivy’s comfort, but it’s not the end of the world.

  Thankfully, the car pulls to a stop just outside the doors, the car door next to me opening so fast that I briefly wonder if Scott actually walks like a human being or simply warps himself from one point to another like a cyborg.

  Our eyes lock, his with the promise to murder me and mine with the dare that he fucking try it. I can’t be entirely sure, but I think I hear Ivy laughing softly behind me.

  No wonder her life for the past ten years has been led according to the Etiquette Handbook for the Modern and Trendy Nun. This son of a bitch means business.

  It makes him a bigger problem than I initially thought and one I can’t ignore. He’ll have to be dealt with.

  Unbuckling my seatbelt without ending the stare down I’m having with the Terminator, apparently, I flash him a wicked grin and ask, “Are you going to let me out, or are you planning on climbing in with us? I wasn’t expecting a threesome tonight, but arrangements can be made if you’re into that.”

  His eyes narrow and nostrils flare just as Ivy sighs at my back. “Scott, it’s fine. Gabriel is never serious about anything.”

  I’m serious about destroying this girl, and by the looks of her babysitter, he knows it.

  He definitely needs to be dealt with. Scott elevates the term cockblock to an entirely new level. Not just the type that prevents me from scoring, but the kind that will literally rip my dick from my body for even thinking about trying.

  I wouldn’t be surprised if Ivy is wearing a state-of-the-art chastity belt with an alarm wired directly to this man’s head every time someone so much as breathes in her direction.

  Needless to say, I don’t like him. And judging by the way he is still assessing me with the very real threat of the slow death I’d imagined earlier, he doesn’t like me either.

  At least we can agree on that.

  “Scott,” Ivy warns, “we can’t go inside and eat if you’re blocking the door.”

  His eyes slide past me
to look at her, his body eventually moving aside to let us out.

  Cautious, I slowly step out of the car and push to my full height next to him. It would definitely be a fair fight, our size easily matching, although I have a feeling this man leans more on the psycho serial killer side of the bad attitude spectrum.

  While I’m not exactly innocent of ruining lives, this man seems the type to chop up a person’s body before deciding which part to keep as a lovely souvenir.

  It takes effort to break the stare down and turn to offer Ivy a hand as she steps out of the car. The instant our skin touches, I feel the usual spark up my arm that happens with her.

  It’s disturbing, that feeling, only because my body is revolting against the sovereignty of my thoughts.

  I shouldn’t want her.

  Not after what’s happened between us.

  And especially not with everything I plan to do to her.

  Still, it’s undeniable. We’ve always had the annoying ability to attract, even when we were doing everything in our power to wreck each other’s worlds.

  Stepping away from the car, I glance back at her babysitter and notice he’s still watching our every move.

  Leaning down, I whisper against Ivy’s ear.

  “You really should get a muzzle for your guard dog. I’d hate to see you get fined when he breaks his leash and bites someone.”

  She laughs, her hair brushing against my face, the scent of her shampoo seducing me as a man moves to open the front door for us.

  “He’s not that bad,” she says as we approach the hostess stand.

  Except...he really is.

  Dealing with him should be a bucket of fun.

  Straightening my posture, I give the hostess our name and follow behind Ivy as we’re shown to our table. My eyes stay glued to her ass, though, because it’s the perfect heart shape, and the dress she’s wearing does nothing to disguise it.

  Ivy’s body, on its own, is a deadly weapon, one that has mocked me through all the years of our war. Only once have I touched it, and that tiny taste was enough to make me an addict.

  It’s too bad the circumstances of that night only made our war worse instead of better.

  We reach the table, and I hear Ivy snort out a laugh.

  “Are you staring at my butt?”

  My eyes lift, and I smile with as much charm as I can pack into the expression.

  “Not at all. I was checking out the stone floor. I like the color.”

  Her lips quirk. “You are such a liar.”

  You have no idea, love...

  Grinning at that, I pull out her chair to help her into her seat, my mind racing with all the possibilities of how fun this night can be.

  Gabriel

  Someone should come over to the table now and take away my silverware.

  I’m like a toddler with a bad idea, the thought of gouging out my eyes with a spoon a hell of lot more entertaining than the mindless drivel and banal conversation I’ve been suffering for the past two hours.

  How?

  How is it possible the woman who has kept me on my toes for the past twenty years has been reduced to this empty shell of a person who is more interested in superficial topics and twirling her damn hair?

  I’ve been close to tears three times now as I decide just how to write the eulogy for the Ivy I used to know.

  Here lies the most aggravating woman ever...which only made me want to fuck her more. It’s a shame I never got the chance while she was still enjoyable.

  Okay. It’s more of an epitaph, a shitty one at that, but still. It’s fitting as hell because the beauty staring at me now has lost every ounce of her devious soul.

  I keep searching her eyes for the tiniest glimmer of the wickedness I once saw, but all I’m seeing is the typical socialite, a caricature so mundane and boring that I keep fidgeting in my seat fighting the insane urge I have to get up and leave.

  Does that mean I’m not interested in dragging her to bed?

  No.

  Still interested.

  Very fucking interested.

  Only because I’ve craved it for so long, and together with the asinine conversation I’m being forced to endure, Ivy is flirting her ass off.

  I deserve some tail after dealing with this shit. And I’ll be damn sure to take it.

  But not as payment for the debt she owes Tanner. We never do that. If a woman spreads her legs for any of the Inferno, she does it on her own terms. Otherwise the conquest is no fun at all.

  “So,” Ivy says, her blue eyes hooded with lurid thoughts, the few glasses of wine she’s had going straight to her head, “I was thinking maybe we can go back to your place and work out an arrangement.”

  That can’t happen for several reasons. Let me count them down for you.

  Number One: Any arrangement to get between Ivy’s legs will have no strings except for the promise of getting off.

  Number Two: It’s not my house, and Ivy won’t be getting anywhere near my actual house because, pale imitation of who she used to be or not, I’m not stupid enough to give her my address. I’m still scarred by the chicken incident. Literally. One of them pecked the shit out of me, and the skin never grew back.

  And Number Three: Tanner is busy seducing Luca, and I suspect showing up there after he specifically warned me off will result in several broken appendages, as well as the rearrangement of my face. I happen to like my face and prefer to keep it the way it is.

  Going to my place is not happening.

  But going to hers...

  Leaning across the table, I stretch out my arms and take her hands into mine. She happily accepts and leans forward, giving me a stunning shot of her beautiful tits. My cock twitches at the sight of them.

  “Considering your guard dog seems to have a hard-on for slitting my throat and bathing in the arterial spray-“

  She laughs. “He’s not that bad.”

  “He is,” I insist, “but that’s not my point. We should go back to your place instead. At least, there, he’ll be in his own yard and can happily play with his chew toys instead of damaging my property from boredom.”

  The analogy makes no fucking sense, but judging by the way Ivy has been acting tonight, she’s too fucking stupid to realize it.

  She opens her mouth to respond, but her phone rings in her purse, her expression dropping as she releases my hands to answer it.

  “It must be nine,” she comments as she digs around for it. I think it should be mentioned that the chirpy little boy band melody she has for a ringtone is making my ears bleed.

  Casting a glance my direction before answering the call and ending my misery, she grumbles, “It’s my dad. I have to answer my phone at several allotted times every day to prove I’m being a good girl.”

  Jesus Christ.

  Is she serious?

  The woman is twenty-seven years old and is being treated like a teenager. Why the fuck does she put up with this?

  “Do you have a curfew, too?”

  Her lips tug into a thin line at my question, and she holds up a finger for me to give her a minute.

  “Hi, Daddy!”

  My eyes widen at the saccharine tone to her voice, the high pitch more expected of an eight-year-old trying to look cool than a fully-grown woman.

  Every bit of blood that had trickled into my dick earlier at the thought of fucking her is now rushing back into my body so fast my cock is deflating like a popped balloon, complete with the little squeal at the end as it flops to its miserable, limp death.

  Ivy twirls a piece of hair while giggling at something her father said, her high voice scratching at my nerves while she promises him that she’s going home soon to be in bed on time.

  What in the actual fuck is going on?

  She must have been in an accident I don’t know about.

  Or a prank went horribly wrong and she suffered brain damage.

  There is no other explanation for the bullshit I’m witnessing across the table.

  �
�Okay! Love you, too! Tell Mommy I miss her and will see her tomorrow at the birthday party. Will there be a clown?”

  My brow cocks.

  “Oh, yay!” she squeals, and I damn near fall out of my chair. “I love when they make balloon animals.”

  Yeah, no.

  I can’t fuck her.

  It would be akin to taking advantage of a mental patient.

  No wonder Scott hates me. I almost went balls deep into a woman with the mind of an adolescent. I hate me, too, now. I should save him the trouble and kick my own ass.

  Ivy hangs up the phone and slips it back into her purse, her blue eyes slipping my direction.

  “Back to what we were discussing. Going to my place works. Just as long as I’m there to set the alarm on time and prove I’m home, they won’t know what we’re really doing.”

  The fuck?

  “Won’t your babysitter say something?”

  I’m not sure I could fuck her if I tried. My cock is so dead at this point that a priest should be arriving shortly to read its last rites.

  “Scott won’t care,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “I’m telling you, he’s not as bad as he looks.”

  I want to say no. I should say no. But we still need information on her father, which might be conveniently laying around somewhere in her house for me to find.

  Fucking her now would feel like less of an exciting conquest and more like taking one for the team.

  A sigh leaks out of me. “Let’s pay the bill and get going.”

  She grins and does a hair twirl, the sight painful to watch.

  After I wave our server over and I pay for the meal, I help her up from her seat, still staring at her ass as she walks ahead of me to leave the restaurant.

  What can I say? I’m a guy, and she happens to have an amazing body. If she would just stop talking for a few hours, I might forget she has the sparkling personality of a goldfish.

  Scott brings the car around, gives me the usual murderous glare when he opens the door to let us in, and I pause in place next to him while Ivy slides across the seat to give me room.

  Turning my head to lock eyes with him, I’m not sure whether to round my shoulders and claim my space, or to slip him a hundred with the whispered plea for him to knock me the fuck out and relieve me of my misery.