Page 9 of Bad Girl Dilemma

But pain is easy. I can take pain. It’s thesilencethat kills me.

He’s just watching me, waiting for the answer I am absolutely not going to give.

From the shadows of his penthouse, Dante O’Driscoll leans back in an armchair like he’s settling in to enjoy a show. One leg draped over the other. A tumbler of dark amber liquor in his hand. He hasn’t touched it.

His eyes haven’t left me.

I sit straight in the leather chair across from him, wrists tied to the arms, ankles bound beneath. Still dressed in my black gear, face smudged with dust and sweat. My hair’s falling out of the wig I wore for the heist.

I must look feral. A street rat caught in a cage too golden to be real.

But I still have one weapon left.

My mouth. The silence thing was great while it lasted. Time to change things up.

“So what is this, Dante?” I say, injecting venom into his name. “Some twisted kink? You think if you tie me up and stare at me long enough, I’ll melt into some grateful little sub and call you Daddy?”

He raises one brow. Sips.

Okay. A hit. Barely.

I keep going. “You’re used to control. I get it. Mommy didn’t hug you enough, and now you make your toys beg before you break them. Classic billionaire pathology.”

His lips twitch. Fingers grip his glass just a fraction tighter.

Good.Bleed, you bastard.

“You think you’ve won. But you haven’t,” I spit. “You may have caught me, but I’ll find a way out. There’ll be people looking for me. I have a job.”

“A minor obstacle, already taken care of.”

“How?”

“The simple matter of buying the company you work for months ago. I’m your boss now. In all the ways you hope won’t count.”

Shocker. Also… what the fuck? I’m terrified to know how long he’s been dangling this bait I’ve just deep-throated. “You’re better off turning me over to the cops. Wash your hands of me and let’s both forget tonight happened.”

“And my money?”

I shrug. “Like you said. A drop in the ocean for guys like you.”

“I also said something else, I’m sure.”

The insult. Fuck.

“If you’ve been watching me, then you know I never divulge actual names before the heist. No one’s the wiser.”

“You know. I know,” he parries softly. A poisoned caress.

When I manage to drag my gaze from him, I look around the room. A gilded cage. A silken prison. But it’s me or Dad. “Seven days, no heist. I’m not helping you rob someone equally as despicable as you. Or worse, someone decent.”

Sip. “Oh, they’re much, much worse than me. But this isn’t a negotiation, Little Dahlia.”

Five.

The urge to swallow again overcomes me. I feel his gaze shift to my throat. Feel the heat of his eyes. Over me.In me. “Are you sure you want thirty days? I can give you thirty days of hell. And when I leave, I’ll take your bank accounts, your offshore holdings, and maybe even your soul—if there’s anything black enough left to sell.”

He stands.

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