2. Gemma

CHAPTER 2

Gemma

K nox Sanders has my heart in my throat for more reasons than I can put together into a cohesive thought. Fear rips through my body as he leans in so close I feel like he's ready to wrap his fingers around my neck.

There's a vein pulsing along the side of his forehead, right next to thick brown brows, above harsh blue eyes. The squareness of his jaw hardens every second he continues to clench his teeth.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Sanders. I understand your frustration?—"

He slams a firm hand on the desk. "I don't want to hear any of your excuses. Get my watches or get my money. You'll be sorry if you don't. I'll call tomorrow for an update."

The moment Mr. Sanders leaves, I rush into the office where my father sits behind his desk on the phone. He's clicking away on his computer and turns the monitor to face me. I watch as he hits play on security footage from the very robbery Mr. Sanders mentioned.

"Fuck. How bad is this?" I ask him.

My father used to have the same strawberry blonde hair as me, but his hair doesn't trail down his back. It's balding in a horseshoe pattern. He stares at me with fear etching across his brown eyes.

The trembling in his voice makes me nervous. "Do you understand how bad this is?"

"That's what I literally just asked you, Pop. What is going on?"

"Paulie set up Sanders to get robbed. We found the car. No Paulie and no luggage. Look here." He points to the timestamp on the screen. There are cameras all over the car for us to track accidents, damage, and traffic stops. We don't tell our drivers specifically for reasons like this. I watch the footage of Paulie being let out of the trunk and the rear camera kicks on.

Paulie's voice is loud and clear. "You didn't have to hit me so hard, bro. Didn't I tell you the guy was a jeweler? Dope, right? Where are you taking the shit?"

One guy takes off his mask, and I pull out my phone to snap a picture as he speaks. "My guy in Coney Island will take care of this. Just sit tight. Meet me at Rita's in a few days for your cut. You did good, man. Real good. Later, Paul."

The unmasked robber takes off as he high-fives the other assailant, who's still wearing a mask. Paulie's left standing by our abandoned, car-jacked vehicle. We are fucked.

"We have to get this to the cops," I tell my dad.

"Are you fucking crazy? Do you know who Knox Sanders is?" he asks, practically on the verge of tears.

"One of our regular customers." I shrug.

"No. Knox Sanders is called the Sandman now because he makes timepieces, but the name was given to him about two decades ago because all he knows how to do is put assholes to sleep. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me," he whimpers and starts looking around the office.

I try to reason with Pop. "Okay, he said he only wants his watches back or the thirty grand for their cost. We can file an insurance claim?—"

The shift in my father's expression has a pit forming in my gut. I'm forced to ask him, "What?"

Regret washes over his face as he says, "Insurance won't cover customer items. The premiums went up last quarter so I dropped the coverage. I've been telling customers to book with their travel credit cards to make sure they at least have that in case of emergency."

"Way to fucking go, Pop. How did he end up as one of our customers?"

"He came recommended as a cash customer from Joey."

"Great, your lowlife degenerate cousin."

Pop ignores me as he rants, "Sandman, I mean, Sanders is going to put me to fucking sleep. This is not a guy you cross. We can't go to the cops. The insurance will never cover the damage to the vehicle when they see we let Paulie drive under a forged TLC."

"Just stop talking, Pop. You cutting corners is the reason we're in this shit. Let's just pay him his money and be done with it. How much do we have saved?"

The dodgy movements of his gaze tell me I don't want to know the answer to that. I can't believe this is happening.

He reluctantly tells me, "There's ten in the safe. I can scrape up five, maybe? What about you, Gem? You're always squirreling money away like your mother."

I shake my head. It's no wonder Ma's relaxing on a beach in Florida with her new husband. "I could have gone with her, you know?"

"I know, Gem. I'm sorry."

"I have to see how much I can get together." My mother warns me every chance she gets about revealing how much cash I have to Pop. He'll gamble it away or lose it or whatever happens to our loose cash around here. I used to think she was exaggerating, but this situation tells me everything I need to know. Pop isn't responsible enough to keep track of the money coming in from the business.

It takes some creative ways to keep the business above water, but this fiasco is liable to bankrupt Gold Royale.

"Sanders gave us until tomorrow. I'll be back," I tell him and storm out of the small office. It's a quarter to midnight when I step outside. The moon is high, the streets are quiet, and my heart is beating a mile a minute.

The garage holding most of our cars is closed for the night. People stroll up and down the street without a care in the world. And, somehow, I have to magically come up with twenty thousand dollars.

"He says he can scrape together five." I laugh to myself, mumbling under my breath as I walk the few blocks toward the subway. I refuse to drive into work as we borrow space from a nearby garage to park our fleet.

I find myself talking aloud as I walk. "Pop probably means five hundred. There's no way we're going to get thirty grand together in a day. How could Paulie do this to us? As soon as I get my hands on him, I'm gonna kill him. He should be the asshole scraping dollars together to pay off Mr. Sanders."

It's like a lightbulb flashing. All I have to do is get to Paulie. I can talk him into giving the stuff back. Or at least, I can get Paulie into telling Sanders where to go to get his merchandise back. Fuck, we're fucked. Anger courses through my body, forcing me to kick something. The echo of my foot connecting with the nearby garbage can bounces off the buildings.

The scurry of vermin in the alley fighting over dinner warns me to pick up my pace before I'm on the menu. I hate leaving the office this late. This is what happens when one of your employees sets up one of your customers to get robbed.

"What the fuck was Paulie thinking?" I ask myself.

"I don't know, but as soon as you find him, we'll ask him together." The voice comes out of the darkness. Before I can scream, a hand covers my mouth and drags me off the sidewalk. My arms and legs thrash violently against the broad muscular body dragging me away from civilization.

Strong arms wrap around me so tight it's hard to breathe. The cloth over my face smells sweet. My eyelids droop heavily. The sounds of cars fade just as the images around me go dark.

Fuck. I'm fucked.

I'm not sure how much time passes when I open my eyes, but the white-tiled walls spin like a top. I groan and moan as my stomach churns. My body pushes everything up and out. Someone's holding my hair back as I puke into a bucket.

"That's right, baby girl, get it all out," a deep voice says from behind me.

"What? What happened? Who are you?" I ask between dry heaves.

"I'm the man no one wants to see because once I put you to sleep, no one wakes up."

"Sanders? Sandman? How?" I can't get my mind to focus on anything specific. All that comes to me is the worrisome tone in my father's voice, dreading this very moment. But, I'm the one who was put to sleep.

"You, your father, and your driver stole from me. You're not going anywhere until I get my money."

"I'm sorry," I sob. "You were right. You were right about Paulie. I just need to get to him. I need a phone. I can talk to him and get him to bring your stuff. I swear."

"You will be allowed to use a phone, but not right now."

"Knox, please," I beg as he pulls me away from the bucket. It's only then I realize my hands and feet are bound behind my back.

"Ooh, I love the way my name sounds coming out of your mouth, Gemma. I can already tell we're going to have fun." He drags me to a chair and makes me stand behind it. "Bend, bitch."

"Huh?"

He nudges my back forward with the palm of his hand before removing a pair of handcuffs from my wrists. He's fast, taking one wrist and cuffing it to the arm of the wooden chair. Knox moves around to cuff the other wrist to the opposite arm. After untying my feet, he lets me stand, with the back of the chair forcing me to hinge at the waist.

"How many pairs of those do you have?" I ask him about the cuffs. My mouth is drier than a desert.

"Don't worry, Gemma, we have plenty of time to figure that out," he says with lust coating his tone. I feel the zipper of my skirt pulling down, leaving my silk panties exposed. My body is on a rollercoaster of emotions. Fear, seduction, lust, and anger surge through every nerve.

"Please, I'll do whatever you want, just don't—" My body trembles as I beg him not to do what I feel is coming.

"What I do is based on how your father treats me. Since you didn't have the courtesy to treat me like the elite fucking customer I am, I'm going to make sure you never make this mistake with me again."