His Dancer by Darcy Rose
Ace
She’s shaking. Terrified. I watch as her head turns to the side, trying to see through the black bag over her head. It’s tied loose enough that it doesn’t choke her but not so loose that she can just slip it off by contorting her body.
I’m not happy about hurting a woman, but this is necessary. She is necessary if I want to find David Rawlings. There is no other option. I won’t let my family down. Rawlings will come for his sister, and I’ll make sure he knows exactly what happens to those who betray the Hales.
I take a step toward the shivering woman on her knees before me, reach forward, and pull the black bag off her head. Long tendrils of dirty blond hair fall over slender shoulders, and she tips her face upward, allowing me a moment to examine her as she blinks at the sudden introduction of light.
“You’re the girl,” I state.
Soft, brown eyes focus on me. “Y-Yes?”
"Do you know who I am?"
Her head turns from side to side. "No, there's been a mistake. Please—" I hold up a hand, cutting her off.
"There's been no mistake," I carefully inform her as I reach up and unbutton one cuff link. Her eyes follow my movements. The fear etched into her features doesn't detract from her beauty. Who would've known that Rawlings had such a stunning younger sibling when all he's ever been is a rat-fink bastard only capable of lying and thieving. It's a shame, truly, that she'll have to pay for his mistakes, for all of the money he'd cost me.
"I don't know why I'm here," she says quietly after a moment. I finish unbuttoning my other cuff link, then carefully roll up my sleeves in preparation.
"You are here," I begin, "because your brother owes quite a lot of money and has somehow managed to disappear with it."
"My brother?" she repeats, sounding surprised.
"Yes." I tower over her, noting the soft tremble of her limbs and the tightening of her jaw as those wide, brown eyes of hers return to my face. "And we can avoid a lot of unpleasantness for you, beauty," I offer, reaching down and tucking one finger beneath her chin. "If you tell me where he is."
"Where he is?" Her lips are plump and full—the lips of a model. The rest of her body, however, is small and fragile. She’s thin, willowy like any dancer, which makes sense because in the packet I received detailing the life of one little girl, she was supposed to be exactly that. A dancer. A lovely little dreamer with a shitbag for a brother.
"I would rather not have to hurt you," I inform her. "It brings me no pleasure to cause you pain, but I must do whatever is necessary to get to the truth. If you tell me where your brother is, you'll be set free."
There's a flicker of something in her gaze that I can't quite read, and it makes me narrow my eyes on her face. "I-I don't have a brother," she replies.
How unfortunate,I think, releasing her chin. It appears her beauty doesn't erase the blood in her veins. She has the same lying tongue as David. I turn away from her and stride to the chair situated across from where she kneels on the hardwood floor of my office.
"I don't like liars," I say coldly without turning around.
"I'm not lying!" she replies sharply. The sound of her voice, so resolute and harsh, makes me turn back around. I lean back against the chair and cross my arms over my chest as I stare down at her. "I'm not." She glares back at me. The fear is still there, of course. Any woman in her position would be a fool not to be scared. Yet there is also a strength.
"You must care for him quite a lot to deny his existence, even knowing that I will not be kind to you," I say carefully.
She shakes her head, that soft fall of hair swiping across her face. "No, you're wrong," she insists. "I don't—"
"Do you know what I like to do to liars?" I ask, cutting her off. "People who lie to me usually end up a few fingers less than what they started with. Sometimes, I prefer to cut off an ear. Sometimes, I simply have one of my men pour a concoction of battery acid over various parts of their bodies. I don't care to do that to women."
Her chest heaves as her brow furrows. I find my lips twitching as she attempts to feign disinterest. It's impossible not to notice the signs of anxiety, though. Her breaths come in quick pants. Her face is pale. Sweat collects against her brow. Whenever she gets this nervous, her little blunt teeth flash as she sinks them into her lower lip, worrying the skin there until it's practically swollen with the effort. She likely doesn't even realize what she's doing.
"Perhaps, I'll let my men take turns with you," I suggest lightly. "A good way to earn back the money your brother stole would be to film some of it and sell it on the black market."
A gasp escapes her lips. "You're wrong!" she shouts. "I don't have a brother. Please, believe me."
"I don't," I state. I don't believe her. I don't believe anyone but my family. My brothers are the only ones I can trust, and as stunning as this beauty is, she's proven to be just as much of a deceiver as her brother if she can't even admit his existence.
"Please—" she tries again.
"This begging is annoying me," I snap. "Tell me where your brother is, and you can go home."
"I already told you," she says. "I don't have a brother. You've got the wrong girl."
Our eyes clash as hers begin to water. Her bruised, swollen lips shape the word, “Please,” once more, making me scowl. I truly do hate hurting women, but releasing her now isn't an option. She's calling my bluff. She doesn't believe I'll actually do it, but I have to do something.
With a curse, I lower my arms and shove my hands into my pockets. "Fine," I reply casually. A burst of hope appears on her face, and a kernel of wickedness fills me as I know I'm about to stomp it out.
"You're letting me go?" she asks.
I snort. "No." Her face falls. "Instead, I'll have you work off your brother's debt." My gaze lifts to the two men standing against the wall. "Cut her loose," I order.
John steps forward and goes down to the floor behind her, withdrawing a pocket knife from his back pocket. With careful precision, he slices through the zip ties and then takes a step back, grabbing the useless plastic as he goes. She brings her arms around in front of her and rubs her wrists.
"I don't understand," she says.
I nod to John and his partner. "You may step outside," I order them.
John frowns at me but does as he's commanded, and then, I'm alone with my beautiful little liar. I take a seat in front of her. "Stand up," I tell her.
On shaking legs, she rises.
"Strip."
Her jaw drops. "E-Excuse me?"
I lean against one arm of the chair and prop my chin up. "Take off your clothes," I say. "Unless you'd like for me to reconsider giving you to my men and letting you work off your debt with them."
Her eyes meet mine, and for a long moment, a charged feeling zaps the air between us. I wait, pondering if she'll make her decision or force me to make another for her. Then just when I think I'm going to have to call John and the others back, she reaches up, and her disgusting black waitress apron falls to the floor, and I know her choice.
