Page 14 of Cruel Deception
“Too late,” I mutter, my stomach twisting. “I’m meeting him at seven.”
Nico’s eyes narrow, curious now. “Who?”
I hesitate, then spit it out. “Cassian Moretti.”
His cigarette freezes mid-air, his face draining of color. “You’re shitting me.”
“I didn’t know it was his when I took it,” I say, defensive, my voice rising.
He shakes his head, resuming his smoke with a shaky hand. “The Morettis aren’t just dangerous—they’re a fucking plague. People cross the street to avoid them. I’m shocked you’re marrying into that snake pit.” He exhales, his voice dropping. “You’re a dead woman walking.”
My heart stumbles, Cassian’s words echoing:Your last breath will be mine.Who hates someone this much after two meetings?
Nico’s fear only sharpens mine.
Will Cassian kill me? Hurt me? I’m a mess, my thoughts spiraling, no plan to face him empty-handed.
“There’s an option,” Nico says, flicking ash to the ground.
“What?” I ask, desperate.
He shrugs, his grin turning oily. “I know a guy who sells bikes like that. I could get one on credit, pass it off as Cassian’s. Better than admitting you lost his.”
Relief flickers, but it’s fragile. “Do it.”
“Not so fast,” he says, stepping closer, his voice low and sleazy. “You want my help, you give me something. Like old times, when we were together.” He puffs smoke, his eyes glinting with hunger.
“You’re too proud to admit it, but I miss you. Miss how you felt, your tight little body, those moans when I fucked you. Damn, Charlotte, you were fire.”
My skin crawls, disgust rising like bile. “I’m your boss’s daughter,” I say, my voice steel. “Talk to me like that again, and I’ll make sure you’re out of a job.”
He laughs, undeterred. “Forgot we were lovers once?”
“Lovers?” I scoff. “All I remember is you cheating, sending nudes to some skank while lying to my face. We’re done, Nico. Done.”
“Fine,” he says, smirking as he strolls away. “Good luck with Cassian, then.”
I stand there, exhausted, my frustration a living thing.
Who could’ve stolen a bike without the remote?
This neighborhood’s been quiet for years—no burglars, no trouble. But now, with an hour until Cassian’s deadline, I’m screwed.
How do I tell a man like him his bike is gone? I’m drowning in this mess, no lifeline in sight.
Nico’s footsteps crunch closer, too fast, too aggressive. Before I can react, he grabs my arms, yanking me against him. His grip is bruising, his breath hot and sour.
“Fuck it, Charlotte,” he growls, his eyes wild. “You turn me on, and I know you’re aching for it too. Stop playing hard to get.”
“Get off me!” I snarl, shoving against his chest, but he’s stronger, his hands like vices.
I slam my knee into his groin, and he grunts, doubling over, but doesn’t let go.
His lips crash against mine, forcing, invasive, and I thrash, bile rising in my throat.
Pain rips through my chest, sharp and blinding, where my surgery scars lie.
I cry out, clutching my ribs, the agony buckling my knees.
