Hating Beauty (The Vegas Titans Series Book 6) (8 page)

“What’s the matter?” I tease,
coldly. “I thought you wanted to play.”

I want to get her back for making
me care. I need her to know that I’m stronger than her, that I’m still capable
of hurting her. I need her to know she can’t trust me.

This might be my only chance to
warn her.

Firmly, I force her palm to spread
over the fabric of my underwear, making her feel the shape of me, my hardness,
my heartlessness. I want her to understand that even without the handcuffs
trapping her, I could take control if I wanted. I need her to be scared of me,
to stop trying to get close.

That’s right, princess. Two can
play at this game.

Definitely not sticking with the
brotherly angle.

Her lips part, tremble a bit. She’s
looking at me with confusion, desire, and something else.

“Please,” she whispers. “Not here. Stop.”

And just like that, I have to. When
I let her hand go her eyes are downcast, her face is flushed. Like she’s
ashamed. But I’m the one who should be ashamed. It was a cheap trick, to make
her feel cheap. It didn’t give me the sense of power I wanted. It didn’t make
me feel good.

I’m glad we’re handcuffed together.
I’m glad that she can’t leave me, and that I’ll have a chance to do something
to make up for that.

I guess I can say I won this round,
but the feeling of triumph is hollow. So she knows I could overpower her. So
what? She knew that already. I didn’t gain anything from my stupid crudity.

After all, once I push her away who
will be left on my side?

No one, that’s who: just me,
myself, and I. Like always. It’s a sobering reality check that makes me
suddenly feel very, very tired.

“So what’s this next brilliant idea
of yours Katja?” I grunt. “I mean Tatiana.”

She takes a deep breath, gathers
herself. I watch her face harden like a mask. I recognize something of myself
in the transformation: the brave, wounded kid is gone, and a focused
professional is in her place, rattling off instructions like a sergeant. It’s a
gate that she closes over herself like armor, to keep her safe. To hide.

I have one just like it.

“The next thing we need to do,” she
says, “Is get some of the information I’ve gathered on Breslin out of a locker
I keep in the Piers. I need to get in the women’s locker room. See that man
over there by the bench, playing Frisbee? He left his jacket and shoes on the
ground. And his girlfriend’s sweater looks like it’s long enough to cover me. We
walk over there when he’s not looking…”

Chapter Twelve

Knox Cole

Twenty minutes later, two
ragamuffins are standing at the front desk of the Chelsea Piers gym. We’ve
managed to steal two outfits that would make a circus clown roll their eyes.
I’m in someone’s pastel windbreaker and neon flip-flops, an abandoned plaid golf
visor, and some striped, wet swim trunks. I look like a 80s pop star mixed with
a Country Club grandpa. None of these items would, under any other
circumstances, ever converge as an outfit on the same individual. But today is
a special day.

Tatiana (I still want to call her
Katja) had even less sartorial luck, and is sporting only the frisbee
girlfriend’s sweater. Which, it turns out, is not actually long enough to cover
her ass. She’s bearing it like a fucking queen though: she walks purposefully
into the huge lobby area, past rows of WASPy moms and mustachioed hipsters, head
held high, giving no sign of caring that her perfect ass is on display.

As she walks confidently in front
of me, I get a fine view of the curve of flesh rounding up from her thighs to
the sweet peak between her legs, and every few yards I catch a few other dudes
checking her out too. But I am linked to her side, the handcuffs ensuring that
she can’t get away, and none of them can do anything about it. Not gonna lie,
there’s something kinky and fun about having her literally chained to my side.

With breezy grace, she leans her
willowy curves against the front desk and gives a dazzling smile.

“Hello Mark,” she says. “How are
you today?”

The receptionist is a weasel-faced,
bald-headed dude whose professionalism impresses me: as we smile at him looking
like refugees from mime camp, he doesn’t bat an eye. In fact, at the sight of
Tatiana, he lights up.

Not that I can blame him.

“Hi Miss White,” he says. “So good
to see you. I’m just fine, thanks. I see you brought a friend today! Hello sir,
welcome to Chelsea Piers, how are you?”

I nod curtly, unable to muster a
real greeting for the disgustingly cheerful receptionist even when Tatiana
kicks my ankle. Social graces were never my strong suit, especially when it
doesn’t directly lead to sex. Tatiana glares at me, then laughs lightly to
cover my faux-pas.

“We haven’t had any coffee yet,”
she jokes to Mark. “Only half awake. That’s why we need the gym.”

“Ah,” Mark’s professionalism
doesn’t waver and he turns back to Tatiana with an even bigger smile. “Well you
came to the right place. Did you want to use your guest pass for him?”

“Yes, yes, that would be lovely,”
Tatiana says.

What does a girl who can afford a
Chelsea Piers gym membership want to live at a dive like the Leo House for?
Maybe Tatiana really can pay me for my services.

Mark produces a clipboard and pen
and pushes them toward me. Instinctively, I begin to raise my right hand,
completely forgetting about the handcuffs.

“Oh no, I got it,” Tatiana says,
pulling my hand back down to hide below the counter. “I think the paper is for
me, yes? On my membership.”

She scribbles quickly, her tongue
poking out the side of her mouth adorably. Seriously, is she even out of high
school? God I hope she’s out of high school. She has to be out of high school.
I notice she’s signed the form as Ekaterina White, and fills my name out as
Charlie Williamson.

Smooth operator.

She pushes the clipboard back to
Mark and smiles. “How is Terrance?”

“He’s so great,” Mark says, his
voice growing sickeningly saccharine. “Just graduated from doggy kindergarten.
There was a ceremony with doggy cake, and they all wore these little caps and
gowns. So cute! I took tons of pictures.”

Tatiana laughs, a sound like
tinkling bells. “How sweet! Can I see a picture?”

“Cake for dogs? That’s a thing?”

The disgusted words are out of my
mouth before I even think about it. But before Mark can respond, Tatiana gives
me another swift kick in the ankle and changes the subject.

“Ow!” I object.

“Mark,” Tatiana sighs. “I almost
forgot, I’m sorry. We need your help with one more thing. It’s somewhat
delicate, and I am a little embarrassed.”

His eyes dart between us, widening
the way peoples’ eyes do when they think they’re about to hear something juicy.
“Sure sweetheart,” he chirps. “Anything you need! What’s up?”

Tatiana leans over the desk conspiratorially,
drawing Mark’s face closer to hers like a magnet.

So it’s not just me—she has that
effect on everybody.

“My friend and I, we’ve had a
little…mishap,” Tatiana whispers. “We were goofing around this morning and, uh,
lost our key.”

“What key?” Mark asks dumbly.

Suddenly I realize what Tatiana is
going for, but not quickly enough to stop her from pulling our linked hands up
onto the counter, revealing the handcuffs.

“The key for these,” Tatiana bites
her lip impishly, turns red, and giggles.

It’s exactly the right move to win
Mark over. He gives a mock-scolding frown and tries not to chuckle as he waggles
his finger at her.

“Well, well, young lady, I am
surprised at you! I had you pegged for more of a missionary-style, girl-next-door
virginal type. You saucy minx! And you lucky guy!”

He gives me a playful shove on the
shoulder and I can’t help but raise an eyebrow. The last thing I would ever
have pegged Tatiana for is a virginal girl next door, not with that accent and
those feminine wiles. And I’m beginning to realize that she’s not the amateur
kid I might have thought—she’s got what it takes to be a real hustler, playing
up different personas to different people to get what she wants out of them
like a pro.

I have to admit she is playing the shrinking
violet part winningly, and Mark is swallowing it hook line and sinker. She is even
glowing a dusky peach color now, blushing all the way to her neck with
seemingly genuine embarrassment. I’m wondering if maybe she’s an actress.

“It’s so silly,” she laughs
breathlessly, “I can’t believe we lost the key. But I thought, hey, at the gym
you must have those…those…what do you call them? For the lockers, when you cut
them open? You know, the…the…”

She makes a cutting gesture with
her fingers.

Mark’s face clears. “Oh, right!
Yes, the wire-cutters. We use them to break locks when people haven’t paid for
their space. Hmm, of course we have them, but these links look kind of thick
for the blades. Tell you what, wait right here and I’ll see what I can do, you
naughty girl.”

Mark scampers off with a wink and a
flourish.

“A little mishap, huh?” I ask,
eyeing her. “Interesting way to describe our morning. That’s putting it rather mildly.”

She glares at me. “Not that you’re
helping.”

“You don’t seem to need my help, Mystery
Girl. Didn’t want to get in between you and your admirer, seemed like you had a
nice thing going on.”

“Mark? You can’t be serious. Wait.
Are you jealous?”

“Me? Jealous?”

“Yes, you, jealous. Of Mark!
Ridiculous. He’s gay.”

I knew that.

“Then why are you flirting with
him?”

“Oh for heaven’s sake –”

But Mark reappears, cutting our
whispered argument short. And that’s not all he’s prepared to cut: in his hands
are a pair of massive diagonal bolt cutters, their sharp beaks gleaming
dangerously. Looks like a fine murder weapon, if you ask me. Could probably
snap through bone.

“Wow,” I murmur in spite of myself.
“Those will probably do the trick, alright.”

Tatiana jumps up and down,
gleefully clapping her hands. “Mark, you’re our hero! I thought we were stuck
together forever.”

Something in me twists at the
relief in her offhanded words.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Mark laughs.
“Let’s see if they work first.”

Tatiana dons a serious air, and kicks my ankle until I let
her pull my hand and the chains of the handcuffs into a position that is easy
for Mark to reach. He lines up the bolt cutters, frowning in concentration.

On his first attempt the blades
slip across the shiny marble counter-top. The second try, Mark agrees to let me
help by holding the bottom handle steady as he pulls down on the top with all
his might like a lever. He’s a small guy, and even though he’s in shape it
takes four or five of his best pulls before the chain snaps in half. The moment
the links break, my heart starts hammering.

Now there’s nothing holding Tatiana and me together.

Nothing except a shared cause:
surviving Breslin.

Will that be enough?

If she gives me the slip now, I’m
fucked. She has the laptop, the info that Breslin wants, and all the cards.
Without her, I’m a sitting duck. That must be why I’m so nervous at the thought
of her leaving me.

Yes, that’s what it is.

“Yay!” Tatiana yells, dancing around, giving Mark a
celebratory kiss on the cheek. “My hero!”

She kicks my ankle again, and I grudgingly obey the cue.

“Thanks Mark,” I grunt, stretching out my hand.

He accepts the brusque handshake without comment. Then I
point at the clippers. “Mind if I try something?”

“Okay.”

He hands them over, and after a quick study of the metal
cuff still circling my wrist I know what to do.

“Give me your hand,” I order
Tatiana.

She does so immediately, without question, twisting my guts
all over again. The way she’s putting herself at my mercy with a dangerous
instrument in my hands makes me feel guilty for doubting her, but the doubts
nag anyhow. If I’m going to convince her to stick with me, I have to play my
cards right. I hope what I am about to do will serve as a gesture of goodwill,
an indication that I’m choosing to trust her now that the handcuffs are gone.

“Hold still,” I murmur.

I position the bolt cutters and snap through the clasp of
the cuff around Tatiana’s wrist. It falls and clangs on the desk, and Tatiana’s
arm comes completely free. She rubs it thankfully, and it galls me to see that
her skin is already rubbed raw where the metal had touched her.

“Oh, what a relief!” she sighs. “Thank you. Here, I’ll do
you too.”

She’s a little clumsy with the tool, but she eventually
manages to clip through the clasp and free me from my own fetter. Soon we are
completely rid of all traces of the shackles, which lie in ruins between us on
the desk.

“Thank you Mark,” Tatiana says, handing back the cutters. “You’re
the best. Guess we’d better hit the gym now. Are we all set?”

“Yup, all set. Glad I could help.”

With another wink, Mark disappears to put the clippers away.
Which leaves Tatiana and I alone at the desk, staring at each other. My mouth
has gone suddenly dry. Now we’re smack dab in the moment of truth: will she or
won’t she give me the dodge?

“I’ll just get my duffel bag from my locker,” Tatiana says.
“It’s our only chance to cripple Breslin, slow him down. Actually, now that we’re
here, we might as well shower, yeah? The men’s locker room is over there. I’ll just
meet you back in the lobby in twenty minutes, unless you want to go rock
climbing or something.”

I ignore her attempt at humor,
searching her face. It’s gone inscrutable, her secret-agent look. Guess she
reserves that for me, while Mark gets all the flirtation.

My resolve to play it cool buckles.
I can’t just let her go. I need to say something. Grimacing, I grab her wrist.

“I’m coming with you.”

Her eyes narrow into slits. “Are you crazy? You can’t come
in the ladies’ room. What do you want—to invite trouble? We need to blend in,
be as normal as possible.”

I pull her in close, until the front of her body is only a
centimeter from mine and I can feel her warmth all the way up and down like an
extension of my own senses.

“Please,” I say, the word foreign and cumbersome on my lips.
I feel like an idiot as I desperately try to think of how that sentence ends.
All I come up with is, “Don’t try anything foolish.”

“Foolish?”

“Like, for example, giving me the
slip. You wouldn’t last an hour alone against Breslin at this point, and for
that matter neither would I.”

It’s true, at least for the moment.

Until I get my hands on that
laptop.

“We are a team now,” I murmur, as
calmly as I can. I need her to need me. My survival depends on it. “For better
or worse.”

For better or worse? Why the hell did I say that? It’s like
quoting a line from the wrong movie, totally out of place.

Tatiana’s eyes trace down over my
lips, and for a second I think she might kiss me. But instead of indulging my
fantasy of playing that out, I give her a rough shake. It’s my way of shaking
myself out of it, too. Apparently acting like an animal is my only defense
against her.

“Do you understand?” I ask gruffly. “No funny business.”

Now her eyes flash, and I am reminded of the edgy Katja I
met that very first night at Breslin’s party: the dangerous, mysterious Katja,
the one that drugged me, robbed a powerful sociopath and started this whole
crazy chain reaction. She’s perfectly capable of outsmarting me. The knowledge
doesn’t ease my mind.

But then she rolls her eyes at me, once again seeming like
the young and vulnerable Katja: the Katja who told me her real name and became
Tatiana, the girl who blushed at my erection and who asked for my help.

I can’t keep up with this woman.

Who the fuck is she?

“Of course I understand,
brrochi
.
Whose idea was it to work together in the first place? If it were up to you
we’d have gone to Seventh Avenue and been arrested or shot. Why not thank me?
Why not give me credit? How about instead of attacking me you cooperate, you
idiot? Eh?
Cadi yleebi mocove
.”

“God I love it when you call me
names I don’t understand.”