3. Zane

Chapter three

Zane

I 've put myself in such a stupid situation. Driving a sexy woman in handcuffs isn't too far from my reality, but having a worried woman who is convinced I'm going to kill her is a first. Here's to many more firsts with this little vixen.

She sits beside me in the back of the car as we drive back to my home. I'm so glad I reached her in time. Imagine if she had run, thinking we were after her. She would have spent the rest of her life looking over her shoulder for someone who wasn't coming. However, there is the irony in that I became the mafia man she feared was coming to kill her when in actuality I was there so that I could tell her no one was coming.

I should have left her behind where she was safe from me and my world.

I should have told her the truth and walked away.

But that isn't the only reason I went.

I went because I am bored with my life. My job is successful and my boys are grown. I have my grandson sometimes, but since my son moved the two of them out it's been lonely. I miss my wife, and this young woman is the first to catch my eye since she's been gone. She is the only one who made me think about a second chance.

I need something new. I have my eyes on that something now when I should be kicking back with my sons. My kids are older than she is.

Sure, this woman has a good figure—the toned look of a dancer, the olive skin that's more genetics than spray bottle. She has long dark hair that cascades around her face in wild curls. I bet she wishes she'd tied those locks back before answering the door, but it wouldn't have swayed her appeal.

"Here we are, kitten." We pull up at the break in the thick white wall we've been driving along for the past two miles. The wrought iron gates give a glimpse of the garden inside, but the house can't be seen from here for paranoia's sake.

"Where is here?" She questions, hunting the darkness for where I've brought her.

"Wait and see."

The gates open automatically, thanks to both technology and security guards. I head inside once it's wide enough not to risk the car's paintwork. Trees line the narrow road, which is beautiful at any time of year, but this summer is such a dull season in my garden when the spring colour leaves my view. The road sweeps to the right, and the house comes into view with its massive frontage.

"Good lord, who needs a house this big?" Her words don't match the smile that sneaks across her face.

No one needs a house this big. My seven-bedroom monstrosity is about something other than what I need. It's a status system for a man, showing the world he has everything.

Edward Thayer threatened to put a bullet through my head when he realised I was looking for a modest four-bed home. I am the consigliere of the Thayer Cartel, I have to look the part, even if my insides feel as empty as the home I own.

"No one needs a house this big." I remove her seatbelt and then my own. She isn't going anywhere until my bodyguards help her from the car. "Who would want a house this big? Anyone who gets tired of living in a matchbox."

And anyone who wants to impress a woman tired of living in a matchbox.

She makes a non-committal sound in her throat, but I've no time to dwell on her opinion.

"Would you like us to stay, Consigliere Whitehall?" William questions.

"Perhaps just for a nightcap."My bodyguards can stay until this lovely young woman sees things from my perspective, but they have day jobs to return to. I don't need around-the-clock protection—not even Knox is that important—but I know when I need backup. Going into clubs is definitely one of those times. Holding pretty women against their will isn't. I can manage this.

He nods and fetches Jasmine's bag from the boot. After all, she was good enough to pack for this little visit.

"Shall we go in, my dear?" I turn, inviting the lady to enter first. It's not optional; she knows it, promptly entering with my hand on her back.

"Ronan. Please bring us a hot chocolate in the front room, and then Miss Morgan can turn in for the night."

"I'm not staying here." She attempts to protest this arrangement, but she knows deep down that my home is better than whatever plans she has made for the night.

Ronan gives the grin of a confident man. I trust him more than my own sons, at least the younger one, anyway. Lenny still has a lot to learn. He'll get there. I just wish he'd get there quicker. It would be nice to worry less about him and more about her.

"This way, my dear." I guide her arm, but this time, she resists me. Kitty is going to draw her claws, and I like it.

"Where are you taking me?" she demands.

"I'm not taking you anywhere; we're just going to sit in here." If she won't go ahead, maybe she'll follow.

Call me weird, but I don't like my back to the window or the door. As they are opposite each other, I have my sofa almost central, facing the far wall. It's a beautiful wall, painted in a swirling purple, white, and lilac mural, with the TV mounted in the centre. I don't mind staring at it all evening, but it is about the sum of my pleasures. I'd much rather have someone to look at instead of a TV.

This kitten needs me to give her a little trust before she'll give me the same curiosity, so I release her hands and sit on the sofa.

"You can sit, or you are very welcome to run off into the night and be a single lady on the run with no food, job or home."

She huffs at me as if that is my fault and sits at the opposite end of the sofa.

"Now, what happened tonight?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," she huffs.

"Then let me guess." I lean back in the chair and allow myself to bask in my detective skills. "You're a dancer in a club. Not quite the star of the show, but you try your best, and you'll get there. You're probably new to this lifestyle, so you can cope with them looking but not touching. Andrew Green is a low-level porn director, offering to help you over this touch of fear. I wouldn't be surprised if you're a virgin, too. It's a typical backstory, like all the girls who end up dancing in strip clubs because they fell on hard times for one reason or another. It all goes downhill from there. You start dancing, but sex pays better, and Andrew is a way in. Then you're anyone's slut for a bit of cash. The guilt hits when you realise how far you've fallen. And then people like me are there with the drugs that make you feel better."

My cocky attitude drops as the girl starts crying.

"So why are you different? You said no to Andrew, and he didn't like that. Got up close, you were scared and trapped, and you only wanted to get away, didn't you, kitten?"

"I was searching for my pepper spray. I just wanted to get away."

"I know." I smile at her, remaining steady in my pose and composure. She needs me to be a constant in her life while she sobs away her woes.

I need someone special in my life. Someone more than a topless whore from the clubs. Someone innocent in my world. I need her. If only there were a way this woman would choose me.

It's all I can think about as she sobs, begging me not to kill her for her transgression. Can she choose me? Can I give her an offer she can't refuse? I can offer her this house, all the money she could ever spend. I can give her access to the Thayer's private jet and holidays around the world. I would buy her clothes, jewellery, shoes and bags. It's all the things Edward gives his wife to keep her happy, but I'm sure this beauty will refuse it all. Her life is not about material things. I need to find a way to make her want everything I can offer, and I think the way to this lovely creature's heart is through her blood.

Covering up her murder is an excellent place to start.

The fact she didn't kill Andrew is a mere oversight. A man like that can't be allowed to live after what she did. If he had lived, she would have been right to run.

But she won't let me save her willingly; I'm going to have to force this upon her for her own good.

"You realise your old life is behind you now. That isn't an option for you anymore. You know that; it's why you were running. Where were you going?"

"Nowhere. Somewhere. Anywhere." She sobs. "I'd start again like I did this time."

"I'm going to offer you my home. Stay here for a few days and work out your next step."

"But you're the people I'm running from."

"No. I'm not." My eyes lift as the door opens, and Ronan enters with a tray.

"I am the consigliere for the Thayer Cartel. Do you know what a cartel does?"

"Rules the criminal underworld."

"Yes." I hand her a mug of hot chocolate, my fingers brushing against hers as she takes it. "We police the criminal world. Our clubs are safe spaces for our staff. We have strict rules about our dancers being clean, safe, and comfortable."

"Can I get a job as one of your dancers?" she chirps up a little at the idea.

"I might be able to sort something out. But you'd have to lie low here while I clean up your mess if you want to show your face in town again."

"With you and your bodyguards?" she snaps.

"They aren't my bodyguards." However, she may appreciate my offer of protection more if it was an army rather than an old man. I don't need bodyguards when I'm doing my job, as Consigliere to Edward Thayer. It's only when I'm moonlighting around clubs doing Marcus' job that I need backup. I simply call up anyone looking for some overtime around their day jobs. I have a list of about ten guys I have come to rely on, and I call them in order of preference. I didn't get too far down the list tonight, snagging two of my favourites to aid me.

"Fine. I'll stay here tonight."

"Good girl. Let me show you to your room." Now she's agreed to stay, I can work on step two.