Page 5 of Filthy Little Lies

But, if I get through this unscathed, I will heed her advice. No more trying to make big deals, only smaller scale stuff. A flat fee, no trying to get rich by stealing from the rich.

“Are you going to tell me where you got these from, or should we continue this discussion somewhere more private? I should warn you, you’ve already racked up a list.”

“A list of what? And what do you mean more private? You’ve locked me in here, I don’t think it gets more private than that.” I scoff and immediately regret it when his fingers dig into my arm.

Still holding me tightly, he pulls me closer and draws my bag down my shoulder. When I try to grab it from him, he shoots me a look that makes me freeze. If it’s possible for a human to die just from a piercing stare, that’s how I’ll die.

He puts the bag on the counter and rummages through it, first finding my phone. I get only a flash of it before he stuffs it into the back pocket of his jeans. Then he pulls out my wallet.

This is more concerning.

I try again to take it, but he reacts with lightning speed. He spins me around and shoves me down over the countertop. The edge of the glass digs into my stomach. But that’s not the problem. The bigger issue is that he has my arm twisted behind my back, and he’s pushing against my ass.

Correction. His steel rod of an erection is pushing against my ass.

“I would stay still if I were you.” He holds me effortlessly in this position while he goes through my wallet. A moment later, there’s a dark chuckle escaping from him.

“I’m not really seeing the humor in the situation,” I can’t help but say.

He leans over me until the warmth of his breath brushes across the shell of my ear.

“You have five different names in here; which is the real one?” He shows me the cards, fanned out like a poker hand, and I shake my head.

“You don’t know your own name?” He purposely misunderstands me. “Last time, what is your name?”

“I don’t understand what this is all about, but I really do need to leave.” I close my eyes, knowing my time is running out. If I’m not across town with the money in the next hour, I might as well ask this barbarian to kill me now. “Please.”

“Then tell me what I want to know. What is your name and where did you get the papers?”

“Why do you want to know about the papers? What will you do to them if you find them?” It’s tempting to continue the lie that my grandmother had them for years and years, but I’m cutting my losses. Getting out of the shop alive is now the goal.

“I’ve seen this work before. The forgery cost me a hundred grand.” He pauses then asks, “What do you think I should do to them?”

There is absolutely no good way to answer that question. I can’t tell if he realizes the forgeries were done by me or if he only suspects I know who did them. And since I don’t know what he’s thinking, it’s safer to say nothing.

“Please. Let me go. You can keep the diamonds.”

A phone rings. His cell phone.

And he answers it, sounding like he’s just hanging around doing nothing.

I’m only hearing half the conversation and there isn’t much of anything going on this end. A lot of acknowledgments but no new information. He shifts to my side but doesn’t let my arm go as he finishes it up.

“Bob!” He calls, and Bob immediately appears. I have a feeling if this guy snapped his finger and yelled for a genie he’d have more than three wishes granted.

“Yeah?”

“Get the car and bring it out back,” he orders, and Bob toddles off to do his bidding.

When we’re alone again, he helps me up, letting go of my arm. I roll my shoulder back and forth to work out the tenderness.

Since he hasn’t said anything, I assume I can leave now. He obviously has something more important to attend to, so I reach for my bag. He pulls it out of reach.

“Last chance. Your name and your contact.”

“You’ll let me go?”

“If I like your answer. Maybe.”