The Sinner's Bargain (Contracts & Deceptions #2) (13 page)

“Whose desk is that?”

“Philip’s.”

“You share an office?”

Samuel shrugged. “We’re not normally here at the same time. We do talk, you know. We’re in the same business.” When Amara continued to stare, dumbfounded, he continued, “Doesn’t mean we like it.”

“Business,” Amara muttered with an eye roll.

“Yes, business. We get paid for what we do.”

“And what is it that you do? I think I have an idea of what Philip does now, but I can’t figure out what it is you do.”

“I’ll show you.” He smiled as he began opening drawers in his desk. “We’re fixers. People have problems, we fix them,” he said as he took out a file.

“Seems like you make them worse.”

He grinned as he put the file down and leaned back in his seat. “Sometimes we do, but usually not for the client. We always fix
their
problems.”

Amara nodded. “How much does it cost to hire you so you can fix a problem?”

“Depends on the problem. You need me to put a bullet in someone’s head? Maybe a pretty lady marrying your ex-boyfriend?” He cocked his head and started nonchalantly, while throwing a stress ball in the air and catching it. Her eyes widened.

“No. I was just wondering.”

“Well, it depends on the job.” He stopped throwing the ball and placed his hands over the file. “You’re a steep price and someone paid it.”

She scoffed. “That’s what I hear, yet here I am.”

“Yes, here you are, but now you understand why.”

“Sort of, yeah.”

“And now you’re on board with this whole thing,” he said waving his hands around the office.

“Ummm… no. I don’t think I’ll ever be on board with
this whole thing
,” she said, mimicking his movements with her own.

“You don’t have to be. You just need to keep your head in the game, do what you’re told, and be done with it. Stop listening to those who tell you they know what’s best for you, because they don’t.”

“I don’t follow,” she said, even though she had an idea of what he was talking about.

“Colin thinks he has a clear vision of what’s going on. He thinks he’s figured out why you were here to begin with, and I let him think he paid your debt off because, well… I thought it would get him off our backs.”

Amara couldn’t speak past the lump in her throat, so she just stared at Samuel, dreading his next words.

“As far as I see, he’s more in the way than ever before. He’s digging around, trying to find anything he can on us, and in the process, distracting you… you can imagine how we feel about this.”

“What does that mean?” she asked quietly.

“I’m not sure yet. It depends on what happens tonight—on what happens with this job. We’ve been working on this for a long time, Amara. A long, long time. I’m sure Philip told you that though.”

She nodded.

“What else did Philip tell you on your little trip last weekend?”

“I…not much. Just the same things you’re saying now.”

Samuel leaned forward, resting his torso on the desk as he spoke, letting the gravity of the situation color his words. “Who did you meet while you were there?”

“Why don’t you ask Philip?” Amara whispered, hoping the fear he was placing in her didn’t show in her eyes.

He stayed silent for a moment, his eyes boring into hers. “Have you ever been betrayed? Really betrayed?”

Amara’s heart began to thunder into her ears. “Yes.”

“Who did it?”

There was only one answer: her father, but she didn’t voice it. She didn’t have to.

“It wasn’t Philip, it wasn’t me… betrayal only hurts when somebody you don’t expect does the stabbing. If it was somebody you were expecting, you wouldn’t feel it as much…it wouldn’t hurt as bad…it wouldn’t cut as deep.”

“What’s your point?” she sputtered, hating the direction their conversation was going.

“My point is, the person who has the heaviest hold over you is the one with the power to hurt you. You should be careful around Colin.”

Amara stood up quickly, her chair scraping against the floor beneath her. “Where am I supposed to wait for this auction?”

Sam exhaled and shook his head. “I’ll take you to your room now. The men coming tonight will bid on each girl that goes on stage. We’re certain the man looking for you will be here.”

Amara figured he would be, but having it confirmed made her feel like she was running out of air.

“We don’t know who he is, but we have an idea of what he looks like. There was a time we thought it was more than one man, but now we think it’s only the one. He always preys on women that look like you. That’s why all the girls here tonight look like you.”

Her mouth popped open. “How does he know what I look like?”

“If my sources are telling the truth, they heard it from the horses’ mouth.”

“My grandfather. The sultan,” Amara said quietly. “What happens after he wins? If he bids on me?”

“We follow him wherever he takes you and track him down.”

Amara slumped back down into the seat again, her legs wobbling in exhaustion as nervous sparks flittered through her body. “Sam, this is really dangerous.”

“We’ll take care of you.”

Frightened tears threatened to spill, and she fought to keep them in check. “What if you can’t?” she whispered. “What if he kills me?”

“He needs you alive, Amara.”

“How do you know? What if it’s one of those accounts that only need my eyeball or something?”

Samuel looked flustered for a second. “Well, in that case he would only take your eye; he wouldn’t need to kill you.”

“Ohmygod.” She buried her face in her hands. “This is serious, Sam! Would you let Courtney go off with some guy like that?
This guy
?”

Her fingers fanned open so she could look at his face. He seemed pensive. “She’s been through worse.”

Amara gaped at him. “Courtney’s had years to get used to this weird life you guys live! I didn’t sign up for this shit! I was going to repay a debt, that’s it!”

Samuel sighed and rubbed his eyes. He was exhausted and tired of the mess they’d been thrown into. None of his clients were as complicated as this one. Or as dangerous. “You’re not going to lose your eyes. They need you to talk and sign papers in order to get to that bank account, that’s it.”

“But I never signed any papers for it to begin with,” she argued.

Samuel opened the file on his desk and turned it to face her. Amara looked at the papers and blinked rapidly, as if it would make her signature an illusion, but there it was, clearly written on the page. She leafed through the pages as she pulled them toward her. There was a series of photographs of the contents of the safe: Blocks of gold, stacks of American dollars, jewelry, ammunition, and a smaller safe. She continued looking through the bank document and shook her head in disbelief as she saw her signature at the bottom of every page.

“That’s not… I didn’t…” she started, but stopped to swallow her panic. “I swear I’ve never seen these papers before in my life!”

His lips curved up in a secretive smile that made Amara’s skin prickle in fear. “I know you haven’t.”

“Why are you smiling?” Her voice was demanding, annoyed…frightened.

“Because I made them myself.”

Her jaw dropped. She wasn’t sure if she could breathe quickly enough for her lungs to fill with air. “What do you mean you made them?” she shrieked.

He sat back slowly, his eyes intent on her. “It’s my job, Amara.”

“So why are…” she shook her head and blinked. “Why are you pretending you’re helping me?”

“I’m not pretending anything,” he said, looking offended at the idea.

Amara placed her shaky hands on her lap, trying to regain a composure she found impossible to hold on to. “I’m not following. I need a moment,” she stood suddenly and paced the room, placing her arms behind her head the way PE coaches tell you to after running laps around the field. When that didn’t work, she stopped and turned to him suddenly.

“Why would you forge those papers? That’s illegal! You’re practically rubbing shit all over my name, and it shouldn’t have been there to begin with! What kind of person does that to somebody? Do you not realize what you’ve done?”

“I do what I get paid to do.” His voice was calm with an edge of pride to it that infuriated her.

“You’re disgusting. I can’t do this.” Amara was shaking so hard she was afraid she was having a mild seizure. She turned toward the door.

“You still have to be here for the auction,” Samuel called out.

“Fuck you!” she shouted from the hallway and continued walking.

“Amara! It’s dangerous. If you leave and don’t come back, you’ll be in danger,” he said, walking up behind her.

She turned quickly. “If I stay I’m in danger. I’m…” her heavy breathing didn’t allow her to keep talking, she felt like she might faint. “I need to get out. I need to get out.” Panic crawled through her veins and simmered in her blood. She’d never felt so consumed by it —not even when she’d signed the contract with Philip, or when she realized she was stuck going to Paris, or when her mother ended up back in the hospital, or even when she left Colin—either time. Not ever. So she ran. Amara ran the way she came in, pushing past Ava who was still standing near the door. Thinking about the lies, the deceit, the backstabbing, the girl that looked like her, the man that wanted to capture her, her sick mother, Colin’s engagement, all of it made Amara feel sick. She ran out into the smelly alley and didn’t stop until she reached the nearest sidewalk. Her shoes squeezed the toes of her feet and even though it became excruciating, she didn’t stop running. It wasn’t until she reached a virtual wall of people walking the crowded sidewalks of Times Square, that she stopped running long enough to catch her breath.

Amara stepped into a tourist shop and got herself a pair of flip flops for her aching feet. They would do nothing to shield her feet from the chilly fall weather, but would serve to keep her toes intact until she got home. She walked the eight blocks to her apartment—or rather the apartment Colin had put her in—and laughed maniacally when she finally reached her door. It was one of those punch-the-code-to–get-in kind of doors, and after four failed tries, Amara pressed her back to the door and sagged down to the floor. As the weight of her day finally hit her, hard and fast like a sucker punch, she began to cry, softly at first and then loudly as she gasped for air, strangled by the weight of her situation.

The door behind her clicked, and Amara’s head shot up from between her legs. She stood quickly, wiping her face as she turned ready to face Colin, but Philip was the one who stood in the doorway.

“Aren’t you supposed to be somewhere?” His blue, calculating eyes narrowed on her.

“What are you doing here?”

“I was in the area.”

Amara’s eyes drifted down to his hands. She hadn’t stepped into the apartment and she felt the need to make sure he wasn’t armed. He was wearing a suit. Always a black suit, as if he was always ready to visit someone’s funeral and pay his respects.

“I thought you went to Paris when we got back from Washington.”

“Are you going to come in?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Are you going to give me a choice?”

“I don’t care either way.”

She took a deep breath, still shaky from her tears. “I’d rather stay out here.”

“Suit yourself.” He walked out of the apartment, closed the door behind him, entered something on the keypad and grabbed her by the elbow.

“Let go,” she seethed, yanking her arm from him.

“I’m taking you back to Méchant, ma chére. You can go kicking and screaming or you can come calmly. Your choice, but you’re going back.”

She struggled against him, this time breaking free of his grasp. Amara contemplated walking toward the stairs, but thought better of it and ran into the open elevator instead, pushing the button quickly.

“Close, dammit!” she yelled as Philip strode toward it. Just as the doors were shutting, he stopped it with the barrel of a gun. “Holy shit,” she squeaked as he stepped in, pointing the gun at her head.

“I thought our meeting with my boss gave you a better sense of how big this thing is that we’re dealing with. This situation can get us ALL killed. All of us, Amara, so you will go back and do as I say, or I will personally put a bullet in Colin’s head before I ask the nurse, what’s her name…Cathy? To inject your mother with enough morphine to overdose her. Are we clear?”

The barrel dug into her skull, and she began to hyperventilate.

“Y-yes, I understand,” she choked out when he pressed it against her harder.

“Good. If you try anything stupid, and I do mean anything, consider it done. I don’t make idle threats. I’m giving you the easy way out.”

She was openly crying when they got to the underground garage, and he escorted her to his car, pushing her in and sliding in behind her.

“Méchant,” he ordered the driver.

“What am I supposed to do?” she whispered.

“Do as you’re told!” he growled.

“But if the guy looking for me wins the auction, I’ll have to go with him,” she said, wiping her face.

“And we’ll be right behind you.”

“And if you’re not?” she asked, her eyes cutting to his.

“We will be.”

She finally regained her breath, wiped her face and looked at Philip. “Why did Samuel forge my name on those papers?”

Philip exhaled as he put the gun away and leaned into the leather seat, closing his eyes. “That was a long time ago. We were asked to do that—”

“My god, Philip, you know my parents, Do you have no sense of loyalty?”

His eyes cut to hers in fury. “Loyalty? Do you know how much I have helped you? I have done things for you that I would not have done for another girl.”

“Am I supposed to be thankful for that? For you blackmailing me with my mother’s life? With my boyfriend’s life?” she shouted.

“I only need you to do this one thing, and then you can go and be the other woman in Colin’s marriage! Or who knows, maybe he’ll actually get a divorce and be with you. Either way I don’t care!” His face was impatient as he looked at her. “Wasn’t the trip to DC enough for you to know that?”

Amara averted her eyes to the back of the seat in front of her and crossed her arms as she let out a breath. “Just one thing,” she repeated. “One thing. Will we still have to go to Iran?”