The Billionaire and the Con Artist: A Bad Boy Romance (Bad Girls Series Book 1) (11 page)

* * *

N
ow that I
’ve had even more time away from my ridiculously huge borrowed suite, the motel room doesn’t look as bad now.

It’s still smelly, and I’ll probably immediately get a fungus from the floor if I take off my shoes, but I’ve definitely slept in worse.

I’ll just be here overnight anyway, and then I’ll take probably take off tomorrow.

I lie flat on my back, fully clothed on the rough bedspread, my hands behind my head.

I stare at the ceiling for a while, then I turn my head to glance around absent-mindedly.

Happy fucking birthday
, I think as I notice the primitive clock display announce midnight.

Despair starts taking over again, and I fight off the urge to sob as another teardrop escapes, but I’m almost immediately interrupted by a loud thump on the door, then a crash as two men burst in.

Absolute fear takes over as I recognize one of the men, and he’s someone I doubt is happy to see me—well, outside of the possibility of recovering his stolen items, that is.

Instinct takes over and I head for the motel window, away from the huge angry males headed in my direction, but I am quickly caught by the waist as a thick arm closes around me.

“Where do you think you’re going, you little thief?" Axel says.

“Let me go!”

"Oh, no, no, no. Not happening, sweet cheeks," the other guy says.

Axel’s arms tighten around me as I struggle against him, trying my damnedest not to break down again because how embarrassing would it be for him to see me like that? Crying for real, that is?

I’ve used tears to my advantage before, but no one has seen me in a truly raw state but Taylor.

I’m not quite back to my confident self yet, and having Axel catch me at my most vulnerable moment is going to take some extra effort to recover from.

Still, I can feel myself breaking, so I fight harder, fruitlessly struggling against his grip.

God, this is so humiliating.

Axel will soon learn I got conned myself, what a failure I am all around.

I can’t physically escape him, but I can keep my head on straight, I can stay in control of my emotions at least.

I struggle to keep it together internally.

And fail.

D
espite my suspicion
that this is definitely a con and Jewel has whipped out those female crocodile tears, part of me softens toward her.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

"Not falling for it," I say firmly, hoping I sound more convincing than I feel.

She continues to bawl and I loosen my grip on her.

She doesn’t try to get away again—she just holds her hands over her eyes as she lets it all out, her body limp but contracting with the strength of her sobs.

It’s pretty awkward, and Nate suddenly looks as uncertain as I feel, his eyes darting between her and me.

I gently lead her to the bed and sit her down while Nate stays where he can sort of block the exit.

“Okay, Jewel. You were obviously distressed before we got here. What happened?"

She removes her hands from her face and my heart practically melts as she looks directly into my eyes, her splotchy face still heartbreakingly beautiful, her blue-gray eyes glistening.

“You don’t understand,” she says so sorrowfully, my heart almost breaks. She sounds so hopeless. “She was all I had. She left, and she took… everything."

She closes her eyes briefly and gives her head a shake, as if recalibrating, then restarts.

“My friend, Taylor—we arranged to meet and she drugged me and robbed me of everything I had. I have nothing left!"

I’m guessing she means my watch too.

I’m still not sure this isn’t yet another con, so I tell her exactly that.

"I don’t believe you, ‘Jewel’,” I say with air quotes this time. “Just give me my watch back, feel free to keep the cash. And you know what? I’ll do you the favor of letting it end there—no cops or anything involved. Just don’t let me see your face again.”

“I don’t have it, Axel! I know you have no reason to believe me, but it’s the truth. Taylor turned on me; she robbed me blind.”

She dissolves into sobs again.

Shit.

I may or may not end up regretting this, but I believe her, despite logic screaming at me.

I glance at Nate.

It seems he took a few steps back somewhere along the way, and it almost looks like he’s about to bolt out of the door.

He has that ‘I just walked in on a fucking couple’ look on his face, like he accidentally interrupted a private moment.

Poor guy looks so uncomfortable, but I know he’ll stay until I give the word.

I turn back to Jewel.

She is now looking down at her hands absently, sniffing.

There’s such sorrow on her face when she says, "I have no one now," that it absolutely ruins me.

I can’t believe this, but I feel something hardening inside me, a determination.

A firm decision has been made, despite logic, and I know what it is—there’s no chance I’m letting her go now.

If Jewel is telling the truth, she won’t have to worry about being alone again; I’ll make sure of it.

Call me a sucker, but I don’t think I was wrong about her the first time—that she fit me, that she and I connected in a way I thought was no longer possible. That what we had was truly special.

But first thing’s first—I’ll help her get revenge while getting my shit back.

“What’s your real name?” I ask gently.

She takes a brief moment before she says, “I’m April.”

Then she looks away, but I don’t think it’s to hide a lie in her eyes.

“April, meet Nate,” I say, gesturing in his direction. “Nate, here’s that girl I was telling you about.”

Nate tries and fails to suppress a chuckle at my expense, and I swear I hear April snort too.

“Ah, yes—The one quivering in anticipation of a second round. The one hounding for a pounding,” he says, probably grateful for a reprieve from the heaviness of the past few minutes.

I don’t blame Nate for taking a moment to laugh at my expense—I’d think this whole thing was funny too if it wasn’t my shit involved—but my cheeks heat at his words, and I almost berate him for saying something so vulgar in front of April.

It seems I had nothing to worry about—April’s face has softened with genuine humor; she’s not offended at all.

I remind myself I’m not exactly dealing with a delicate li’l thing. Delicate in some ways, maybe, but the girl has obviously had a tough time for a while.

It’ll take more than a reference to sex to offend her.

She’s not exactly vulgar herself—cursing up a breeze or anything—but she’s no shy conservative either.

She obviously wasn’t a virgin, and as much as it enrages me to think about, she probably has had to use her body to get what she needed along the way.

I try to get her to look into my eyes.

“Nice to finally meet you, April. It seems you and I need to have a little talk.”

"I’ll be nearby," Nate says to make sure she knows she’ll have to get by two of us if she manages to slip away from my grasp.

Somehow, I don’t think she is going to attempt escape again—not yet anyway.

Her whole manner has changed—like she has exhausted all her remaining energy.

Everything about her has sort of drooped.

Even her hair looks like it has lost some life.

“Tell us more about this Taylor,” I nudge.

"I met her when I was fifteen," she says tiredly. "After I ran away from my last foster home. My foster dad ..." She shakes her head. "I had to leave there, and even though I had nowhere to go, I just couldn’t stay there anymore. It wasn’t safe. I wandered around for a bit and the first night, when it really sunk in I had nowhere to sleep, I kind of curled up by a garbage bin and cried. Taylor found me and invited me to stay with her. It was just inside an abandoned car but it was warm and felt a lot safer than out in the open. We’ve been friends since then and she taught me so much.”

Jesus, her eyes are filling with tears again.

Her chin is shaking—like she’s about to cry but fighting it.

She seems to have gotten it under control as she begins again.

“I’m pretty damned good at what I do, but Taylor is expert—she taught me everything I know. She taught me how to work people and situations to my advantage and I’ve been able to get by all this time because of her. I believed just about everything she told me back then, and I thought we’d just keep doing this together.”

I want to ask her why she didn’t transition into more ethical ways of getting paid, but I don’t want her to feel judged and clam up.

Besides, I guess it’s just one of those things, I guess—once you start, it’s hard to stop.

The habit and the success rate must’ve been hard to give up.

And how could she not be successful?

She conned the hell out of me and I consider myself pretty damned savvy at this stage.

She’s got so much going for her—people must fall into her traps so easily.

I sure as hell did.

I settle on what I think is a safer question, but I know it comes with its own landmines.

"What about your parents?" I ask softly. "Where are they?"

"I never met my dad—not sure if he’s dead or alive, but I suspect dead. And I think it was too much for my mom, looking out for me by herself. She… " She lets out an empty laugh. "She sort of ended up just dropping me off at one of those safe haven spots when I was twelve. A fire station.”

"Uh ..."

"There was a loophole at the time—anyone under eighteen could be legally abandoned,” she says before I can ask how the fuck dropping off a kid that age was legal. “Don’t worry, they’ve fixed it since then. Anyway, I was in the system for a while. No one really wants to adopt older kids; I wasn’t far from being a grown-ass woman. And eventually, I had a foster dad who noticed. But maybe it was the fact that I wasn’t actually a woman that got him all excited… ”

Okay, I really don’t want to hear this part.

And I definitely don’t want Nate to hear it.

I mean, sure—she’s a hardened girl, and she has been through a lot and probably doesn’t let it affect her anymore, but it doesn’t feel right to have Nate listen to such personal details.

“I’ve got it from here, Nate,” I say after whispering to her to hold up for a sec.

He nods and leaves us.

April continues as if there was no interruption.

“He came into my room one night and touched me. Said he was just checking to make sure I was there—they had runaways before. But that wasn’t all. I wanted to believe that was it, but the way his hand moved up my thigh the next time, I knew things wouldn’t stop there."

I can barely contain my rage.

"He didn’t …?”

She shakes her head quickly.

"He didn’t get to—I ran away before he could get to that point since nobody believed me. That’s how I ended up on the streets, getting by however I could until Taylor found me. She has helped take care of me since then. She taught me just about everything I know about surviving out there. I really thought she was my friend.” Her voice breaks and my heart follows.

I try to concentrate on anger.

"What’s his name?" I say with every intention of tracking down the son-of-a-bitch who tried to abuse her and making him pay.

How many girls before and after her ended up being victims?

"It doesn’t matter," she says with resignation.

Yeah, it does.

But I don’t want to derail the roll she’s on right now—I’ll press her for more details later.

"So your mom ..." I nudge her.

"She didn’t look back. Actually, I tracked her down here. I often wondered if she regretted it—if she ever looked for me and couldn’t find me and freaked out about it, not knowing where I was, whether I was dead or alive. And the answer is… " She finally looks me straight in the eyes. “ … she didn’t. Not one bit. She couldn’t care less if I was above or below the ground."

“I find that hard to believe.”

She snorts bitterly. “Believe it! Somehow, the woman who dropped her twelve-year-old off at a fire station and never looked back couldn’t care less about her twenty-year-old. Oops! Excuse me—twenty-one. It’s my birthday today.”

She looks away again.

My heart aches for her.

The poor girl—she’s been through so much already.

We both lost people important to us but I got to live a life of privilege; I got to live a life without lack—of material goods, that is.

I get to drown any other sorrows in thousand-dollar bottles of champagne and wine, while she just has to keep from drowning in every other way.

I can buy all the stability and security I want, but she never gets to feel safe.

I can throw tantrums about twenty-thousand-dollar hotel suites, while she hopes to find any warm enclosed space.

I suddenly feel like a massive dick.

She’s just so sad, that there’s no space left for me to be mad at her.

And what kind of asshole would I be not to at least pity her?

She’s super young, got abandoned at a young age—I sure as hell know all about that.

She’s been playing with the cards she got dealt and while I’ve been all pissy about what my dad did, when the truth is, had my dad not left me ridiculous amounts of money, I probably could have ended up exactly like her.

I never had to worry about where to sleep, where to eat. How to pay for anything.

My friends are all pretty stable too.

I suddenly notice that, without realizing it, I shifted to cradle her in my arms, holding her small warm body against my chest.

She is putting up no resistance, her soft body melted into mine.

I fight back the urge to kiss her forehead.

I know this could be another con—part of a long con, maybe—but my gut’s telling me she’s telling the truth.

Although where was my gut when she first opened that hotel room door?

Still, I give myself a break—my emotions were flying high and the sight of a half-naked beauty… well, the gut gets talked over pretty quickly.

Urges ruled.

Speaking of urges, I can’t fight the intense need to further calm her down. To make her feel safe.

I have to look after her.

I have to help her get her shit—and mine—back at the very least.

“What do you say we get out of here, huh?”

“I can’t go back to that suite,” she says quickly.

It takes me half a second, but I understand—she had obtained it by less than legal means and there was a chance she could be tracked down there.

“Don’t worry, we’ll just go to mine. And the way you look now, no one will recognize you.”